


If Fireflies Cast Shadows

by WindyWordz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Agender Pidge | Katie Holt, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, IT'S PLATONIC, M/M, Pidge is 17, Pidge's soul mate is robots good bye, There's a lot of spanish so please be gentle with me, This is just a slew of rlly gay domestic AUs being slung together whoops, ahhh add more strife to my poor gay sons' hearts, everyone is over 18 except pidge, it's 2016 in the story rn, not really but they don't have a romantic soul mate, yeah man those exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 50,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindyWordz/pseuds/WindyWordz
Summary: You'd think finding your soulmate would be difficult, since there's only one of them and over seven trillion people in the world. Thankfully, God decided to take pity on his creations, and gave each person the very first words their soulmate would say to them. It was always in their personalized handwriting and the color that best describe them, decorating the wrist of your dominant hand. And, if you touch it after you meet them, you can send them your emotions, even thoughts if your connection is strong enough.        And that's all fine and dandy - except it isn't.        Because Lance McClain, the fun-loving guy with groan-inducing puns and pick-up lines that never work, who's six-foot one with a good attitude and a hundred friends, has the words "Don't fucking touch me, asshole" scribbled in messy red letters on his left wrist.
  New end notes on the last chapter with an important announcement!!





	1. Saved For A Rainy Day

**Author's Note:**

> Keith, an undeclared major at Arus Community College, is coerced into joining a shadowing program at his college to experience other majors and see if he can find one that fits him.
> 
> If Lance had known that when the guidance counselor asked him to be a Firefly in a shadowing program that he was going to get the most boring, grouchy, fashion-disaster of a Shadow, he'd have walked out of the office without a second thought.
> 
> \--Keith shadows Lance for a week and Lance tries to make the most out of it, but Keith is being difficult and Lance has his patience and sanity pushed to the limits.--
> 
> ((Tags subject to change as story progresses))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance runs into - almost literally - his soulmate, and the end result is just as sour as he'd imagined. 
> 
> But maybe there's some hope for them yet.

       Soulmates are supposed to be that one person you're meant to be with. Someone to share all your plights and worries, as well as your laughs and love and happiness. They're supposed to be the person who loves you the most and brings out the best in you. The one who matches you perfectly; completes you in a way no other person could fill in.

     You'd think finding your soulmate would be difficult, since there's only one of them and over seven trillion people in the world. Thankfully, God decided to take pity on his creations, and gave each person the very first words their soulmate would say to them. It was always in their personalized handwriting and the color that best describe them, decorating the wrist of your dominant hand. And, if you touch it after you meet them, you can send them your emotions even thoughts if your connection is strong enough.

       And that's all fine and dandy - except it isn't.

       Because Lance McClain, the fun-loving guy with groan-inducing puns and pick-up lines that never work, who is six-foot one with a good attitude and a hundred friends, has the words "Don't fucking touch me, asshole" scribbled in messy red letters on his left wrist.

       It's what he considers his biggest flaw. The only thing that he's ashamed of about himself. It haunts him his entire life; the fact that the person he’s supposed to love most in the world, who’s supposed to complete him and be there for him in every way, wouldn't even want to touch him. That they would immediately think so foully of Lance, that the very first thing they say to him would be so cruel. It had Lance always covering his left wrist, shielding it from prying eyes since he was young.

     His mother worries over him, his older siblings pick on him for it, having all found their soulmates early on and getting married young. He acts out, he tries to get attention for his good grades, or his joking and flirty attitude, tries to make everyone happy. He's in a very touchy family so he couldn’t avoid physical contact, but with anyone he's not familiar with or hasn’t spoken two words to, he refuses to touch. But he learns the loopholes that give him a sense of safety when touching others. He never goes for a handshake first, he always makes sure to keep his distance until someone says something to him, and he always, always, _always_ has his hands in his pockets when he's not using them.

       But naturally, as the saying goes, love finds a way.

       The 'way' being that Lance , for all his flirting and asshole remarks, is too nice for his own good.

       It's Friday, about a month and a half into fall semester at Arus Community College, and the day starts out pretty normal. In fact, it's almost got an extra helping of boring and dreary, so Lance would actually call it draining. The weather doesn't really help. It's raining and the air is filled with the scent of decaying vegetation and exhaust fumes, the smells being held down by a heavy blanket of mugginess. The precipitation is that kind of steady mist where it's hard to see it, but if you turn your face to the sky, there's the prickly feeling of drops hitting your face and an almost static filter over your vision. The wind is soft and chilly, curling around anything that dares to leave the sanctity of a building like tendrils of smoke from a small candle.

       Lance had been forced from his comfortable bed and heated dorm suite by a previous agreement to meet with a guidance counselor to talk about ways he could fulfill his fraternity quota for a non-fraternity event. So it was with a heavy sigh and much grumbling under his breath that he wrapped himself up in his thick, navy blue jacket and washed-out skinny jeans. He throws a white scarf over his neck for an extra buffer against the soggy, morning weather as he treks across the campus to the faculty building. Old Main, it’s called. He doesn’t mind that he actually has to go outside and brace the gentle precipitation, but why he has to meet this lady at ass o'clock in the morning on a Friday when he had no classes is beyond him. He waves his student ID over the light blue scanner and it gives a chirp, the lock’s light going from red to a blinking green as he pushed open the door.

       The secretary inside tells him to wait since the guidance counselor he's supposed to be seeing is with someone else right now, so he plops down on the unfairly comfortable couches that line the walls. He takes in the room; bland wall paint, haphazardly decorated counter-top next to the secretary's desk, dull carpet floor where there's a tear in the most worn part. There's a lip of fabric sticking up, but it's easily avoidable if one were to move to the side a bit when the walked. Lance absently thinks about how they should get it fixed, before he sits back and stretches his legs out in front of him, pulling out his phone. He's messing around with a number game when the secretary pops her head over the counter, and tells him that he can go in now just as a door around the corner opens.

       An angry-looking guy with broad shoulders and pale skin comes strutting out, long black hair tied back and poofy, black jacket zipped up to his neck, making him look like a grumpy cat. His hands are fisted at his sides, and he's mumbling something under his breath that Lance can't hear. Lance moves to stand and the guy swerves around him, but the motion causes his boot to catch on the tear in the floor and he fumbles. The taller teen instinctively reaches out and grabs the guy's arm before he smashes his nose into the not-as-soft-as-it-looks flooring. He's surprised that he actually manages to catch the guy and stop his imminent descent.

       What he's even more surprised about is the other boy quickly righting himself and yanking his arm back, dark eyes like knives as he turns to hiss venom at Lance. "Don't fucking touch me, Asshole!"

       Lance immediately puts both arms up defensively, scowling as he retorts with, "I was just trying to help." But the other is already striding for the door, awkwardly pausing for a moment before he wrenches open the creaking wood and slips out. The secretary gives him a wide-eyed look before quickly going back to her typing, and Lance is half-turned to head towards his counselor's office before his brain catches up to him. Every joint locks up and he freezes, eyes wide as he stares unseeingly at the wall.

       _Don't fucking touch me, Asshole!_

       He'd been so careful. So, so careful for the last eighteen years, and then he goes and breaks his absolute, number one rule about physical contact. He clenches his left hand and takes a breath, trying to swallow the swell of emotions - anger, hurt, guilt, anxiety, and the most surprising of all, relief- at the back of his throat.

      _Have a mental breakdown later, deal with the guidance counselor now. Swallow and bottle McClain_ , he tells himself. _Pour it out when you have the luxury of solitude and you're not in the middle of a faculty building._ He takes another slow breath through his nose, exhaling through his teeth, and then he forces his muscles to loosen so when he walks into the office, he's as relaxed and casual as he always is.

       He gives the lady a smile with a chipper greeting, and she seems grateful for it.

       "Lance , right?"

       "That'd be me, miss," he replies smoothly, despite the claws of sour feelings trying to dig their way under his shoulder blades.

       "Well, what can I do for you?" She asks, sweeping back a curly lock of blonde hair as she clicks her pen, so the dainty tip is hidden away.

       Lance shrugs as he takes a seat in one of the rather plain, leather chairs sitting loyally in front of her desk, his fingers find the edge of his jacket’s sleeve, "Ah, the fraternity I joined requires me to do at least one non-fraternity event every academic year. I was wondering if you could give me some ideas for that?"

       She smiles and turns to her computer, "Well, let's see what we can find. I take it Greek Week is out." Lance nods, so she continues, "Well, there's a tutoring program, where you can tutor other students in subjects you're well acquainted in. How about that?"

       Lance glances to the right as he thinks, one hand coming to rest the sides of his fingers against his lips, "Hm, well, I'm an art and music major, so those are the only real subjects I’d feel confident enough to teach." He can tell by the way the guidance counselor pulls in the corners of her lips to make them into a tighter line that there aren't any tutoring positions available in those departments.

       "Hmm, I don't think there are any positions for those kinds of majors. How about this?" She turns back to her screen, browsing for a second before turning back to Lance . "We have a shadowing program called Firefly Lanterns." Lance's eyebrows piqued in confusion and interest, so the counselor takes it as a cue to explain it a bit more. "It's where we pair up a student who's an undeclared major with a first or second year student who's declared their major, and we have them shadow that declared major for a week to see if any of their classes could spark an interest in a major or career path." Lance nods thoughtfully, resuming his previous position but looking down to the left this time as he thinks it over for a moment.

       "That could work," he says after a few seconds, looking back up at the older woman with a grin. "Alright, yeah, sounds fun. Sign me up, please." His smile is returned and she starts tapping on her computer.

       "I just need to ask you some questions and get information from you to fill out the form," she says as her mouse clicks expertly. "Usually I'd give you a form to fill out and return later, but the program begins on Monday, so I'll just fill it out and submit it for you now." Her eyes look back to the brunet, "Full name?"

       "Lance Alejandro McClain," he replies automatically, and the counselor's fingers type it as the first syllable flies out of his mouth.

       "Date of birth?"

       "July twenty-second, nineteen-ninety-eight."

       "Student ID"

       "2X5-392X-X74"

       "Major?"

       "I'm an Illustration and Music double major."

       "What's your music major focus?"

       "Guitar, miss."

       "And how many semesters have you taken here so far?"

       Lance leans back in his chair a bit, "This is my first semester here. I'm a freshman."

       The counselor smiles and resumes typing. They finish quickly and she takes a small thumbdrive, and plugs it into her computer briefly before handing it to Lance . He pockets it as she jumps into another explanation. "That USB has all the information you'll need for the program, including rules, regulations, and guidelines, as well as emails, phone numbers, and business hours in case you have complaints or concerns that need handling. Make sure you don't lose it! You'll receive a new Shadow every first week of the month, excluding school holidays and breaks. They'll sit in with you during your classes, but it is your job to let your teachers know and to help your shadow understand and keep up with the classes." Lance nods through all of this, keeping a smile pinned to his face before he agrees to email her with anything else and is excused from the room.

       It isn't until he’s at his dorm, waving his ID over the lock for his room and sliding in, did the gravity of what had happened earlier finally set in.

       He'd met his soulmate. He'd met his soulmate and the vicious look in his eyes, the piercing bite to his words, _his_ words, is a hundred times worse than Lance has imagined it for the past eighteen years. He ambles shakily to the suite's small couch and collapses onto its soft embrace, curling in on himself as all the sour feelings threaten to explode out of him, like a soda bottle that had been shaken too hard. He hugs himself and flicks his hood partially over his head, trying to remember what breathing is like.

       "Hey, Lance! Is that you?" A voice from one of the rooms filters down the hall, and before Lance can prepare himself, Hunk appears around the corner, big grin disappearing as he sees the near-panic state that Lance was in. "Holy crap, dude, what happened?" He makes to step forward before Lance scrambles to push himself up, forcing a huge grin onto his face even as tears well up and threatened to spill over.

       "N-Nothing! Nothing happened- I'm fine, I'm fine, haha." He wiped at his eyes furiously and tried not to curse under his breath when his best friend came over and knelt in front of him, face disbelieving and genuinely concerned.

       "Lance," Hunk sighed, but his voice holds no sternness or bite to it. Just the soft sweetness that Hunk always gave out, "C'mon man, I know you. You're actually terrible at hiding things from me, you know? So what happened?" Brown eyes watch the smaller patiently, meeting deep blue in an slew of mixed emotions. And then before he knows it, Lance is lunging forward into Hunk's readily opened arms, burying his face into the other's wide shoulder as he tried not to openly sob.

       "I met him, Hunk. I met my fucking soulmate," Lance chokes out, and doesn’t even notice when his friend stiffens around him, he just keeps going. "I met him and he said those damn words to me!" He curls tighter into the larger boy, who quickly recovers and is now soothingly patting the other boy’s back.

       Hunk had known the day would come eventually, and he knew he had to be there for his best friend when it happened. Though, he had to admit, he wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Hunk had known Lance since middle school, but it wasn't until a week before their high school graduation that the chipper teen had finally explained to him why he always kept his soulmark covered up and never spoke about it. He'd been shocked to see those violent words etched into his best friends skin, and had promised to keep them secret and never mention it. He'd even taken to covering his own soulmark when he'd met Lance , both because his own words were strange and because he wanted his friend to know he wasn't alone and he supported him. He doesn’t flinch when Lance releases his hold on him and curls in on himself.

       "He was going to trip so I went to catch him. I broke my number one rule and he pushed me away and snapped at me, Hunk. And then he just left before I could say anything more than 'I was just trying to help'!"

       "Hey man, it's alright. We knew this would happen, even if you did take precautions." Hunk tries to be gentle, and he always was. He lets Lance hide himself shamefully away against him, and he doesn’t force him to uncoil until he’s no longer shaking, and his breathing is back to a more normal pattern. Then Hunk softly puts some space between them, so he can get a good look at his roommate's face. Lance is pale and flushed at the same time, eyes ringed with the red irritation that comes with holding back tears, and he won’t meet Hunk's gaze. "So what are you going to do?"

       Lance took a moment to wipe at his eyes, despite having successfully kept them dry, his voice shaky, "What do you mean?"

       "I mean, you know what he looks like now. And he must go here since you saw him on campus." Hunk tried to keep his voice soft, but also steady enough that the other could ground himself on it if he needed to. "Are you going to look for him?"

       "Hunk," Lance sighed, still curling into himself. "You know what words he put on me. You are literally seeing how upset it made me. I... I don't know..."

       "Well, it's up to you, man. But it's something to consider, since he's your soulmate." Lance doesn't answer, avoiding his gaze like a stubborn child. The bigger male grips the smaller one's shoulders firmly, giving enough of a squeeze that Lance looks at him through moist eyelashes. "And remember what I said before graduation? I'm here for you. Even if this asshole does have a permanent mark on your skin, it doesn't affect how I think about you. You're still the suave, funny, genuine Lance with a great voice and mad art skills that I, and all our friends and family, know. I won't stop loving you, they won't stop loving you. Nothing will change if you never see your soulmate again. Sometimes, the universe gets it wrong; it's okay. He has no idea what he's missing with you, man."

       Lance nods, takes one final breath to steady himself, "Alright, you're right. I'll... I'll talk to him, if I find him. But right now I just need to not think about it."

       "Sounds like a good plan to me," Hunk rubs his arms comfortingly, giving him a soft smile. "Now that my little pep talk is done, it _is_ Friday, after all. And it's gross outside, so why don't we have a night in and binge watch that show you've been dying to catch up on?"

       That seems to brighten Lance's face a bit, his brow unfolding a bit even if he doesn’t smile. "Project Runway?"

       Hunk inwardly groans and rubs his face as he prepares himself, outwardly never letting his smile falter and giving the other a nod. He will do anything to get Lance out of this funk and back into a good mood. "Yeah man, I'll even bake my famous nacho platter. The extra big one with homemade salsa and guacamole."

       Now _that_ gets Lance to smile, and Hunk returns it tenfold as his friend gives his eyes one final wipe with his sleeve, "Alright, yeah man. Sounds good. Sorry about all this, haha. I don't deserve such a great best-friend."

       "Ha! That's my line," Hunk replies with a toothy grin, before turning on his heel and heading to the fridge. "And you're not allowed to continue to mope. You have to help me prep the ingredients." He hears Lance give a soft groan behind him, but it has a little of his insincere humor in it that Hunk knows means he'll be up in a sec.

       "Fiiiiine," the brunet groans. And just as Hunk predicted, the lanky guy heaves himself to his feet, shedding his jacket in the too-warm dorm so he’s just in his grey and blue baseball shirt. He moved over to the fridge when Hunk steps aside.

       "Can you get the tomatoes and milk, dude?" Hunk asks as he heads for their tiny pantry.

       "Yeah sure."

       Hunk lets a bit of a silence fall between them as they fall into routine. Hunk has been making his famous nacho platter since before he had ever met Lance, and Lance shamelessly admits - except in the presence of his family, for fear of the wrath he would draw from them, especially his mother - that Hunk's salsa and guacamole are his favorite; the best in the world, according to Lance. It’s a thing they are both well-versed in, able to amble around each other with Lance prepping ingredients and Hunk expertly melding them together.

       "So, how'd the visit with the guidance couselor go?" Hunk finally breaks the comfortable silence as he mixes the spices into the main salsa bowl, looking over at Lance who is still mashing avocados.

       Lance looks over with a slightly confused look in his eye before his eyebrows shot up, "Oh! Right- Well, we decided on this shadowing program."

       Hunk raises a brow of his own, throwing a pinch of salt into the bowl. "'Shadowing program'?"

       "Yeah, it's like- hold on, she gave me a thumbdrive with the info." Lance puts down his half-mashed bowl of avocados and starts patting his pockets, realizing he'd left the thing in his jacket pocket and moves to search through it. He finally pulls it out and holds it in the air with a triumphant "ah-HA!" before plugging it into his laptop. A little window opens up automatically on the touchscreen and he pokes through a few folders to get to the one holding the information on the shadowing program. Hunk walks over, bowl abandoned on the counter, and leans to easily look over Lance's shoulder.

     "It's where an ACC student who's an undeclared major follows around another student who _has_ declared their major. Like, they follow them to their classes to see if anything sparks their interest and what not. The declared majors are called 'Fireflies' and the undeclared majors are called 'Shadows'."

       Hunk snorts, "That's kind of cute, man. You finally get to fulfill your dream of being a Senpai and get your own little Kouhai."

       Lance flushs and wraps his arm around the other's head, ruffling his longer hair to hide his own embarrassment, "Th-That was a phase! We promised never to speak of it again!" His voice cracking at the end has Hunk laughing so hard he doubles over, and Lance huffs dramatically and pushes him away before scrolling through the info irritably. "Anyways, I get a new Shadow the first week of every month, not including holiday breaks. The program apparently starts on Monday."

       "October third?" Hunk wheezes, catching his breath as he moves back to the counter to finish the salsa.

       "Yeah. They're supposed to email me with the name of my shadow by the end of today apparently." Lance open up another folder that’s labeled 'Rules, Regulations, and Guidelines for Fireflies.' Despite the reckless, talk-back attitude Lance usually carried, he’s actually very thorough when it comes to knowing what he's not supposed to do. Makes it easier to find loopholes and cheats so he can do what he wants anyways. "We're supposed to exchange emails or something so he can get my schedule and we can meet up."

       "Well," Hunk says, "I'm sure it'll work out. You're a pretty easy guy to get along with, after all."

       "Of course I am!" Lance gasps, flipping his short hair dramatically as he turns, "I mean, have you even seen me? I'm literally amazing!"

       Hunk rolls his eyes; _there's_ his Lance. "Yeah, yeah, Mr. Perfect, now go finish mashing the avocados so we can get on with making nachos."

       "Yes, sir!" Lance whistles with a playful salute and hops back over to his bowl, leaving the USB plugged into his laptop.

♡ ♡ ♡

       Lance gets an email halfway through their fifth episode of Project Runway, and has to fish out his phone from the blankets he and Hunk are currently buried in on the floor. Hunk is half-passed out next to him, not quite asleep but definitely not awake, draped over the seat of the couch. Lance's laptop sits on the floor in front of them, flipped to tablet mode as Hulu continues to show an adviser critiquing one of the contestant's very, _very_ yellow outfit. Lance finally manages to pull the slippery device from the coils of fabric and taps the home button to wake up the screen. There's a little notification from his school's email app, subjected "Lance McClain - Firefly Shadow", and his eyebrows pique up in surprise. It’s barely noon and he already has the email with the info about his shadow. He unlocks his phone with his thumbprint and swipes down the hotbar, clicking the email notification to open up the app right to the exact email.

       He skims the message, getting right down to the contact information and only finding a name and a school-issued email. _Typical_ , he grunts inwardly with an outwards huff.. _Leave it to the school to make this as awkward and difficult as possible._

       Still, his eyes are drawn back to the name: Keith Kogane. From all his highschool years of being what Hunk constantly proclaims him as anime weeaboo trash, his first impression is that the kid is some mix of Asian and American. White person first name, Asian last name? Lance pinches the bridge of his nose sharply. _Don't be a freaking racist, Mcclainn,_ he tells himself. _You're certainly one to talk Mr. Pureblood Cuban with the White Person name._ Lance sighs and taps the email, which opens a new draft.

       He hesitates with his thumb over the keyboard, watching the little cursor blink patiently in the subject bar. He pulls in one side of his mouth, pinching the flesh gently between his teeth as he thinks. He types a quick "Shadowing Program" and decides that’s enough to get the guy to click on it.

 

> **To:** Kogane 005@connect.aac.edu
> 
> **From:** McClain104@connect.aac.edu
> 
> **Subject:** Shadowing Program
> 
> Hey, My name's Lance .
> 
> I've been assigned as your - I think they called it a Firefly? - for next week, starting Monday. I was hoping we could meet before then; you know, clear the air and get off on a good foot before you're stuck in two and a half hour classes with me three times a day. But emailing is too formal for me, so would it be alright to exchange cell numbers? If not, then it's chill.

       He gives it a quick read-through before hitting the little paper airplane icon to send the email to the wind, hoping it finds its way through the school's shitty email system with no hiccups. He leans back against the couch, Hunk's arm slipping off and falling to Lance's shoulders. The brunet grins as the motion jerks his friend awake, who mumbles under his breath as he pushes himself up, and stretches his back with a series of satisfying-sounding pops.

       "Dude, what episode are we even o- what the heck is she wearing?" Hunk's gaze is caught on the girl's still very-yellow dress, and Lance loves that he can tell the surprise on Hunk's face is a good one.

       "An emoji dress, I think," Lance replies as he reaches for his cup.

       Hunk puts a fist in front of his mouth, suddenly becoming very serious that his next words make Lance choke on his drink when he takes a sip. " _I love it._ "

       "Holy shit, dude, why so serious?" Lance coughs out, though he's still grinning as he puts his cup back down to the side. Hunk just gestures at the screen with both hands, wearing a very meaningful and genuine look that screams ' _look at it_ ' as the Judges each give their consent to the design. Lance only wrinkles his nose and forces himself to stand, making a grabby hand-motion towards Hunk's empty cup. The bulky teen hands it to him with a look of thanks. "Do you want something with caffeine in it this time? I know we've got an unopened box of Paris Black Tea somewhere."

       Hunk hums as he thinks, Lance already crossing the few feet to the miniature kitchen tucked into the corner of their suite, opening a cabinet to look for the drink ingredients as his friend finally says, "Yeah, sure, since I have to finish the season with you. I'm actually surprised you didn't smack me awake."

       "You basically smacked yourself awake when you slipped off the couch," Lance calls over his shoulder, reaching behind the near-empty box of red raspberry tea for the black tea. He was right; they haven't opened it yet. "And I was busy writing an email to my shadow since they sent me his info."

       That gets the larger boy's attention and he fully sits up now, leaning over his crossed legs as he watches Lance fill his mug with water and stick it into the microwave. "Already?"

       "I mean," Lance says, hitting the add-thirty-seconds button that immediately starts up the microwave, giving it an extra tap to make the timer hit a minute. "They did say _by_ the end of the day, not at."

       "Hm, good point," Hunk says. "So what's his name, since I assume you know he's a boy."

       "Keith Kogane, apparently." Lance turns his head when he hears Hunk snort behind him.

       "I called it man, you got a little Kouhai!"

       Lance flushes and turns to hiss at the other, but he’s all bark. "Hunk, I swear to God, I will _end_ you." Hunk merely gives him a knowing look and Lance huffs, turning his nose up as he throws his hands to his hips and turns back around, tapping a finger on his hipbone to the timer.

       "Uh, Lance?" Hunk says as the microwave finishes declaring its victory in heating the mug of water. "You got a notif."

       "Tell me what it is and I'll decide if I care enough to stop what I'm doing to check it," Lance replies as he pulls the mug out by the handle; not before covering his hand with his sleeve as a buffer.

       "It's a school email. Subject says something about your shadowing program."

       "Toss it over man," Lance says as he sets the cup on the counter with a slight clink.

       Hunk looks horrified before he squints his eyes at the skinny boy, "Um, excuse me? I am not tossing your phone across the room. You know my aim is awful!"

       Lance only rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand as he turns back and rips open a black tea pack, "Then open it and read it to me, dude. You know my emergency passcode." He hears the other sigh before Lance is dipping the bag experimentally into the steaming water, careful not to get his hand too close to the cheap, ceramic lip yet.

       "It's from Keith," Hunk says, only proceeding when Lance calls out 'just read it to me!' as he continues force-steeping the tea. "Fine," the larger male groans out, scrolling so the message is perfectly centered, not that there's a lot to it. " 'Hello Lance. I'm Keith. I also got an email saying you were the person I'm supposed to be following around. I also hate the school email system. Number's below.' Do you want me to read that out too or...?"

     By the time he's finished, Lance has abandoned the mug on the counter and walked over to the other, gingerly taking his phone and flipping it around for himself to reread the words. He taps the set of numbers, loving that the app automatically hyperlinks it when it recognizes it as a phone number, and the screen flashes as it switches to his messenger app.

        _hey its lance: [11:53 AM]_

_is this keith : [11:53 AM]_

       He sends it and locks his phone, sliding it into his back pocket as he walks back to the kitchen. "How are we doing on the nacho platter, Hunkalicious?"

       "Ten four, good buddy. We've still got half a platter but all the guac’ is gone."

       "Whoops," Lance coos before he feels his phone vibrate. He gives the tea bag a few more dunks and then squeezes it out, tossing it to the trash before he dumps a hefty amount of sugar into the mug. He gives it a quick stirring before he grabs the now much cooler handle of the mug and returning to their blanket cocoon. "Here you are, friendo," he say as he hands it to Hunk, who smiles warmly and gives him a hum of thanks as he takes a testing sip. Lance pulls his phone from his pocket before sitting, the screen lighting up to show a notification from his messenger app, though the content was hidden. He doesn’t like people snooping through his messages without permission, so notification preview for the lock screen has been deactivated.

       He unlocks the phone and taps the little red and white icon that opens the app, finding the unregistered number has replied.

        _[11:54 AM] : Hello. Yes, this is Keith._

       Lance chuckles to himself, "Dude's so formal, like he's talking to a teacher."

       Hunk picks up a gooey blob of nacho and expertly pops it into his mouth without dropping a crumb. His voice is thick and somewhat muffled by the substance, "Maybe he's just trying to be professional, unlike some frat boy I know."

       "Bet you I can get him to use text slang at least once during this whole conversation."

       "Deal, you do my next load of laundry."

       Lance scowls playfully, "Fine, and you get _my_ next load of laundry."

       "Not gunna happen man, I can tell this dude's got a serious vibe."

       "What do you know?" Lance mumbles under his breath and starts ticking away at his phone, only half paying attention to the show as it continues to play.

 _cool beans : [11:57 AM]_   

_so i take it ur undeclared then : [11:57 AM]_       

_[12:01 PM] : Yes. And you are not._

_nope! : [12:01 PM]_

_illustration and music my dude : [12:02 PM]_

_wait : [12:02 PM]_

_u r a dude right? : [12:02 PM]_    

        _[12:07 PM] : Last I checked, yes._

       Lance grins. A flicker of personality shines through the cracks.

_cool cool : [12:07 PM]_

_samesies : [12:07 PM]_

_but im sure that was obvi : [12:08 PM]_      

_[12:11 PM] : Well, I've never met a girl named 'Lance'_

_[12:12 PM] : But I never like to assume._

       Oh wow, two whole sentences and a poor attempt at a joke. Progress.

_fair point fair point : [12:12 PM]_

_BUT!!! : [12:12 PM]_

_i am far better than any girl : [12:13 PM]_

_in both name and virtue : [12:13 PM]_

_as you will see later : [12:13 PM]_

_speaking of : [12:13 PM]_

_i was hoping to meet up before the actual program starts on monday : [12:14 PM]_

_get to know each other a bit u know? : [12:14 PM]_

_are u free 2maro? : [12:14 PM]_   

        _[12: 19 PM] : You're really blowing up my inbox, Lance . And yes, I'm free tomorrow._

_thats kinda mah thing dude haha : [12:19 PM]_

_decatexter and all that jazz : [12:19 PM]_

_but uh i can stop if you want : [12:20 PM]_

_do you wanna meet at the cyber cafe on campus? : [12:20 PM]_  

        _[12:24 PM] : It's fine. What time?_

       For some reason, Lance feels relieved that his text spam isn’t bothering the other. Or at least, that he’s being polite enough to disagree. All of his friends complain about how text heavy he is, how he’s always the one reigniting old group chats, and waking people up at three in the morning to talk about things that don't make any sense and no one really cares about. He's gotten every variety of 'shut up' and 'stop that' you can imagine, both good and bad. So even if it is just temporary, he’s glad someone thinks it’s okay for him to text how he wants.

_hows like noon or smthn? : [12:30 PM]_

_im awful at waking up early when i dont have class : [12:30 PM]_     

       He pauses and takes a breath, looking over at his friend to find Hunk peacefully sipping his mug beside him. He’s giving Lance this look that curls his lips at the ends, eyes narrow in amusement. Lance's expression twists to confusion, which is mirrored in his voice, "What? Do I have something on my face?"

       "Yeah, Lance," Hunk says, lowering his cup a bit and turning the full brunt of -what Lance now recognizes as- his 'I caught you red handed' face in a second. "This big, cheesy grin covering your whole face."

       Lance reaches up and touches his mouth subconsciously, miraculously finding that Hunk was right, but he can’t force the muscles to relax. He somehow manages out a completely flat, "I don't know what you're talking about."

       His bulky friend rolls his eyes, turning back to the show in front of them, " _Mmmhm_ , sure. You haven't even met the kid and you're already crushin', I can see it."

       "What!" Lance squawks, nearly dropping the hunk of nacho he had picked up, managing to catch the chunk of beans that spilled over. "Dude, Hunk, Hunk-2 D2, Hunknado, The Incredible Hunk, _Hunkalicious definition: you are out of your mind_." Lance singsongs the last one as he always does, but there's still a hint of betrayal in his voice. A bittersweet taste, if you will, from the day's early morning events.

       Hunk only hums in response and before Lance can jump into a tirade about just how out of his mind his friend is, his phone vibrates. The sound is loud, reverberating through the room and making Lance jump and Hunk's grin widen. He pops the nacho he still has in his fingers into his mouth, wiping his hands on a napkin before picking up his phone.

        _[12:33 PM] : Noon. See you there._

♡ ♡ ♡

       Lance tries not to let the encounter with his soulmate taint his good attitude, especially after all the work Hunk put in to lift his spirits. He’s even thankful when the weather breaks overnight, becoming an earl grey of silky clouds hanging high in the atmosphere. The air is still chilled and heavy with water, but at least it isn’t falling from the sky anymore as Lance and Hunk make their way to the library. The Cyber Café is located on the first floor, a wide berth of space split in half, with Macs on one side and Windows on the other. It’s shocking to see the competition still going strong. Lance runs a hand through his hair as Hunk pushes open the door for him, so he gives him a wide grin. They are kind of early, the oversized digital clock on the wall reading quarter until noon, so they have some time to kill.

       The café is practically buzzing with the insistent tapping of keyboards and mice, everyone tucked into writing last minute papers and research assignments. The small computer center assistant, or CCA as everyone called them, is typing furiously on various non-school tech that surrounds them. The lights blaring off the screens reflect in their wide, circular glasses, making their eyes impossible to perceive. But Lance recognizes the scrunched-up nose and the wild mess of orange hair being held back with a thick hair-tie.

       Lance strides over to them, Hunk in tow, but they are so absorbed in their work that they don’t even notice them.

     Hunk, reading the brunet's mind and seeing a very-likely sneak attack in the future, warns the skinny boy in a hushed voice. “Lance, dude, don’t. If you end up breaking their stuff, Pidge will end you.”

     Lance  scoffs over his shoulder, giving the other a dismissive wave and a confident grin, _“Relax,_ Hunk. I’m just gunna give them a nice, friendly greeting.”

       “Yeah, and I’d believe you if it weren’t for the fact that your last ‘friendly greeting’-” The bulky male actually makes air quote behind him, still whisper-speaking, “-ended up with coffee all over one of their computers, which short circuited the mainframe cooling system, causing it to overheat and spontaneously combust.”

       “You make excellent points, Sherhunk Holmes, but is that going to stop me?”

       “No.”

       “Then I fail to see why you tried to make them in the first place.” He can hear the exasperated sigh that follows his bouncing figure through the room. Lance scoots around Pidge and leans over their shoulder, but is unable to make heads or tails of their work. He waits until they pause to push their glasses up before speaking, lips close enough that his breath slides over the back of their earlobe.

       “Are you sure you’re not an undercover spy for the government?” He coos, lips twisting in a victorious sneer as the other jumps, startled, and gives out a rather undignified yelp. They almost knock over the keyboard hovering in their lap and grab it before it can slide out of place. The lanky teen straightens and gives them a quizzical brow, but the smirk remains.

       The CCA gives him a perturbed expression, laughing forcefully, “Oh, uh, Lance! Um, I’m just-“ They glance at their work and their shoulders pinch up awkwardly before looking back at Lance, “looking up- fish facts.” Lance gives a very disbelieving look, sliding his hands into his front pockets as Hunk comes to stand behind him. The taller male is eyeing the equipment like he does a fresh meal, and Pidge sends him a sharp glare to send him scurrying behind Lance again.

       “Where did you even get this stuff? No, no, wait, let me guess,” Lance starts, rolling his shoulders back and cocking his head to the side, cooing at the other playfully, “Your _bestest_ big bro Matt, got it for you, right?”

       Pidge gives him a rather bored and slightly narrow gaze, before straightening proudly and turning back to their equipment, casting a snarky look over their shoulder, “Actually, I _built_ it.”

       Hunk raises a brow and gathers enough courage to step out from behind the lanky teen, “Wait, you mean, you built all of this yourself?”

       “Damn, you’re not a robotics major for nothing, are ya?” Lance says, and Pidge's smirk softens a bit when they pick out the genuine tone underlying his words.

       “Top five percentage of the class,” Pidge boasts, pushing up their glasses again and crossing their legs in the chair. If Lance didn’t know they were only a year younger than him, he would have thought they were still in high school with how small they were. They’re easily able to fold themselves into the small, cushioned office chairs. “So why are you guys here? It’s a Saturday; you guys like, never leave your dorm room on the weekend unless you’ve got frat events.”

       Lance puffs his chest a bit, flipping his hair which makes Hunk roll his eyes, _“This guy_ is here to meet a special someone for a little date.”

       Pidge wrinkles their nose and gives him a cringing glance, “You? A date? Hardly likely. The chances of that ever happening are even smaller than winning the lottery.”

       “I love how much faith you have in me and my romance skills,” Lance drawls sarcastically, fixing the other with a crude pout.

       “More faith than a Christian soccer mom at her kid’s first game,” the ginger replies as they go back to typing. “Now what’s the _real_ reason that you’re here? Because I doubt you crossed campus just to annoy me.”

       “You doubt my indefatigably and perseverance,” Lance replies, lowering his brows as his tone flat-lines.

       Pidge rolls their eyes, not looking up, “Right, let’s pretend you know what those two words mean. Hunk?”

       “Lance joined a shadowing program and he’s supposed to be meeting his partner for next week in about-" he takes a second to shove his sleeve back and check the time on his watch, "-six minutes,” the dark-skinned boy replies, smiling.

       “Hunk!” Lance squawks, pouting pathetically at the other boy before it turns into a scowl as he mumbles, “Way to blow my cover".

       “Mhm, I knew there had to be a reason,” the ginger hums. “So why’d you join a shadowing program?”

       Lance sighs and grumbles out, “Had to participate in a non-frat event. Part of the GarriSon’s rules of being an active member.”

       “Is it the Firefly Lantern program?” Pidge gets a nod from Lance, who bounces back with another smaller smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

       “Yep, I’m a Firefly, and the guy I’m meeting is supposed to be my Shadow for the next week.”

       The ginger hums as they continue typing, moving to swipe back a stray lock from their bangs, “And you know it’s a guy?”

       “Yeah.”

       “How?”

       “Uh, because I asked? And he’s got a guy’s name.”

       “Some girls can have guy names.”

       Lance rolls his eyes, “Pidge, I am not arguing about genders and names.” He pauses before he adds, “Again.”

       “Only because you know I’m right and that gender is a social construct.” They smirk when Lance groans loudly and Hunk nods in agreement. “So what’s his name?”

       Lance rubs a tired hand over his face and tangles his fingers into his hair for a brief moment, “Keith Ko-something-or-other, I think.”

       Pidge finally pauses in their typing and looks at him, eyes lighting up as their eyebrows jump to their hairline, "Keith? Keith Kogane? Like, long black hair, keeps to himself, drives a Dreadnaught KM 200 Motorbike with custom twin hydraulic boosters? _That_ Keith Kogane?”

       Lance's face screws at the barrage of details and he waves his arms wildly as he manages to squeeze in an “I have no idea! I’m only supposed to be meeting him today. Here. Soon.”

       “Oddly specific details on his ride, Pidge,” Hunk says and the other just shrugs.

       “I may or may not have had a conversation with the guy once or twice about it.”

       Hunk takes a step forward, one hand outstretched and waving lazily as he spoke, “Okay but back to the slew of details you just spat out, do you know him? Like, _know_ know him?”

       The ginger nods, “He’s in my physics class! Dude’s wicked smart. I had no idea he was undeclared.”

       “Well, he can’t be all _that_ great, “ Lance interjects, throwing his hands to his hips. “Dude texts like I’m his teacher! Or his father.” He smirks, running a hand through his hair once more. “But hey, I mean, I could be his daddy any-“

        _“Lance,”_ both of his friends say sharply, immediately picking up on his unnecessary, and quite frankly rather inappropriate, comment.

       “Save it for when he gets here, dude,” Hunk says, crossing his arms. “Then you can gross him out without me and Pidge in the immediate vicinity.”

       “Speaking of immediate vicinity,” Pidge says, jerking their chin towards the other end of the room with a smirk, “He just got here.”

       Lance turns his head, and when his eyes land on the only other standing figure on the other side of the room, his whole body goes rigid. The newcomer is tall and slender, with broad shoulders and, as Pidge had said, long black hair that’s tied into a rather cute ponytail at the base of his neck. He’s wearing a dark grey shirt over tight, black skinny jeans and stylish black and white boots with red trim. He’s also clad in a matching red crop jacket with white trim and a high, folded, white collar. His bangs hang like dark curtains over his forehead, reaching for his eyelashes as he scans the room.

       Lance feels his heart all but stop dead in his tracks, and it’s all he can do to keep his legs from collapsing under him.

       It’s his soulmate. The same one that had roughly pushed him aside not a day before, snapped the words that bloodied his skin and caused most of his insecurities in life. And now he understood why the letters were red. He can’t breathe, and the brunet subconsciously touches the brace that covers the words on his wrist.

       Pidge and Hunk exchange a look behind his back, indiscreetly nodding to each other.

       Lance wants to scream when Pidge gives the kid a wave, but finds he can’t even open his mouth. He watches helplessly from behind his friend as the other boy makes his way over, striding with a certain kind of calm confidence that makes Lance want to cry.

       “Hey Keith, what’s up?” Pidge asks innocently, looking up from their typing but their fingers never stop moving.

       Keith blinks, and Lance wants to punch something with how calm his voice was, how he didn't even look at Lance once Pidge had caught his attention. “Meeting someone.”

       What happened to all that bite? The venom that doused his words, or the ferocity that shined on his bared teeth like lion’s fangs? Why was this guy so calm when his _soulmate_ was right next to him? Then a singular, terrifying thought crossed his mind.

       What if.. what if it was because Keith was his soulmate, but Lance wasn't his? He'd heard of that kind of thing happening, as rare as it was. The word _unrequited_ echoes sharply in his mind, and Lance suddenly feels very empty.

       His lungs are screaming for air, but he can’t take a single breath with the dark-haired boy right next to him. He has to move, has to escape, clear his head, reign in all the emotions that have been sent spinning into his gut when he first saw that all-too-familiar face. Hunk seems to catch on relatively quickly to the situation, and immediately steps forward between his best friend and the other two, a hand latching supportively to Lance's wrist.

       He gives Pidge a smile and semi-blocks Lance from view as he says: "Sorry, I gotta go do a thing real quick Pidge, be back in five!” Keith doesn’t respond, or even turn to look, instead pulling out his phone. And then Hunk is heading towards the exit as fast as a still-numb Lance could follow. He doesn’t pause until they’re out the doors and around the corner, cold air biting at their skin. He leans the brunet against the wall right as the other teen's spindly legs buckle beneath him, body sliding to the ground with a small sound. Hunk kneels down next to him, worry coating his milk chocolate features as he scans Lance's.

       “That was him, wasn’t it?” He says after a moment of watching Lance try to take in oxygen and somewhat succeeding. The other swallows hard and nods, nostrils flaring as he tries to remember the technique that was supposed to calm anxiety. Breathe in for a count of four, hold for two, and exhale for five. Rinse and repeat. Hunk is rubbing his shoulder soothingly, and Lance is happy for something to focus on, to help ground himself back to reality. “You alright?” His friend asks softly.

       Lance nods, “Y-Yeah, yeah. That just- he- so soon after- it just caught me completely off guard.” He rubs his hands over his face, _"Motherfucker,_  how is this fair! What did I do to deserve this?”

       The larger male gives him a sympathetic look, “Dunno. But hey, this could be an opportunity to, uh, maybe start over? First words aside, he seemed pretty chill.” He gives a half-hearted shrug, “Maybe he was just having a really, _really_ bad day yesterday.”

       The smaller teen scowls, clicking his tongue. “Oh, and one bad day gives him the right to put these nasty words on my skin?” Hunk flinches at the venom in his voice, pulling his hand back a bit. It’s enough that Lance pinches the bridge of his nose - hard - to reign in his emotions. He shouldn’t snap at his best friend, who not only saved his ass from having a mental breakdown in the middle of a busy student hub, but also from freaking out on his destined-to-be when it seemed he didn’t even have any idea who Lance was. Or was just really good at hiding it. “Shit, sorry dude. I’m cool, I’m c _ool. Todo esta bien ._ ”

       It sounds like he’s saying it more to himself than Hunk , but the dark-skinned male gives him a reassuring smile, “Hey, it’s fine man. But you should-“ He’s cut off by Lance's phone vibrating loudly in his pocket and the spindly teen digs it out, frowning when he sees it’s a text from Keith.

_[12:03 PM] : I’m at the CC by the CCA desk. Are you here?_

       Lance groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, letting his phone tip downwards, slack in his fingers, “How am I supposed to deal with this?”

       “Well, go introduce yourself first,” Hunk offers, ignoring the mixed look of fear and disbelief Lance gives him. “If he’s undeclared, there’s a chance he’s a first year like us. Maybe he doesn’t know the campus, so, like, give him a tour or something.” He shrugs, standing and offering the other a hand, “No one knows the campus better than you. Show him your secret routes. Impress him!”

       Lance gives him a deep frown but sighs and takes his hand anyways, grumbling under his breath in a way that has Hunk chuckling and offering him a reassuring pat.

       "Alright, well, you should wait a sec and then go back by yourself, so it doesn't look as suspicious," Hunk says. "I don't think Keith noticed you leave with me."

       Lance only nods and watches his friend walk back into the building. He looks back down at the message and sighs. _Swallow and bottle, Lance,_ he reassures himself. _You can do this._ He takes a deep breath, and exhales it slowly before he types a reply, then heads into the building.

_be there in a sec : [12:06 PM]_

♡ ♡ ♡

       Keith is now sitting at a nearby computer desk, listening as Pidge goes off about some topic or another, and Lance hates how cute the small smile is on his pale lips. He hates how Keith's got one ankle crossed over a knee, half turned in the chair to lean over the back, idly rocking himself in half-circles as he watches Pidge flourish a hand with that snide face on. Hates how adorable the small snort is that Lance catches as he walks forwards. He swallows again, and pushes through back to the desk, big grin stretching his caramel skin as he catches Pidge's eye.

       "Yoo, Pidgeon, how goes the nerding?" He jabs playfully, sliding his left hand into his pocket and Pidge fixes him with a pouted look. He mutely thanks them for going along with this, and makes a silent oath to treat them and Hunk to something good later as thanks for helping him through this. "You seemed pretty into it with your friend here."

       "I _was,"_ Pidge shoots back, huffing as they turn back to their screen. "Until _someone_ decided to show up fashionably late. Where's your iced chai tea latte from Starbucks, Lance?"

       "Cold, Pidge," he laughs back, shoulders jumping a little more forcefully than necessary. "Real cold." And when Pidge merely huffs and resumes typing, Lance realizes it's the moment of truth, and turns to look at Keith.

       The other boy is staring at him with a plain expression, but his eyes are a little expecting, as if he's waiting for Lance to do something specific, say something to trigger something important. His eyes are shadowed by his thick bangs and heavy eyelashes, and Lance hopes it's just the fluorescent lighting making flecks of indigo appear in them. Lance pins his smile to his face, turning to Keith fully now.

       "Keith, right?" The other nods and stands as Lance takes a breath and breaks yet another rule he had kept for the past fifteen-odd years: he holds out his hand in an offering for a handshake. He keeps it light enough, right hand extended loosely, fingers gently slacked in the air. Now that they're standing in front of each other, Lance can see he's a couple inches taller than Keith, and for some reason that makes him feel a little better. Pidge actually pauses in their typing when they see the exchange, eyebrows piquing a bit in surprise and curiosity. "I'm Lance, but of course, you know that already." He gives a light laugh and then Keith's hand is gripping his with a kind of firmness that lacks too much commitment, almost hesitating, and Lance can feel callouses on the exposed skin of his fingers from under his finger-less gloves. He lets go after a quick squeeze and slips his hand into his pocket parallel to the other.

       "Nice to meet you, Lance," Keith replies calmly, recovering his hand and letting it drop to his side.

       Lance feels so conflicted about the whole situation, but Pidge is giving him a burning look over the lip of their glasses, and he has to keep his usual composure. He gives Keith a smirk, tilting his head to the side a bit, "Really, the pleasure's all mine. "

       He takes a few steps towards the exit and turns to Keith, "Let's get something to drink and then we can, I dunno, talk and whatevs."

       Keith follows him as he continues walking, saying a quick "Sure" as he falls into step next to Lance. The spindly boy turns around and waves to Pidge, who gives a quick brush of their hand through the air as they pick up a much smaller device. He isn't even out of the Cyber Café before he feels his phone start vibrating, so he takes a second to put it on silent. He can always fill Pidge in later. He has more pressing matters to deal with right now.

       Lance can feel the beginnings of a silence, slowly washing over them like the oncoming tide as they walk, Keith only trailing slightly behind so as to give Lance the lead. And he feels a little swell in ego with that fact; something he carelessly lets get to his head. He turns to look at his travelling companion and pauses before saying anything for just one breath, just to admire how flawlessly imperfect his face is. Creamy vanilla splattered with cinnamon flecks over his nose, dusting his cheeks and the tips of his ears, which barely stick out from his thick waves of hair that aren't tied back. Lance inhales, smiles, and says something he immediately regrets.

       "So what's with the pony tail, pretty boy?"

       Keith's eyebrows jump up before crashing down, pinching together as his lips jut outward just a bit, a cute pout that could almost be a scowl, "What's wrong with my hair?"

       "I mean, the pony tail's cute and all-" _Just quit now while you're ahead Lance. Don't do it._ "-but it looks like it'd be a mullet if you take it out. Those are so nineteen-eighty, you know?" Now Keith's face _does_ twist into a scowl, turning his gaze away from the taller boy as they walk.

       "It just grows like that," he growls out. And even if he is angry, the sound reverberates through Lance like an electrical shock, and he finds himself oozing on the inside. And then he finds himself getting angry, because this is the guy who's been the cause of his last eighteen year's worth of misery and self-doubt and insecurity. This is the guy who took an unknowing Lance and shoved him aside, spitting a vile phrase on him that had haunted Lance long before he'd ever even laid eyes on Keith. It bubbles over the happy turn of his stomach, making him feel hot and edgy and bitter.

       "What, so it just naturally grows out dumb?" Lance laughs, pausing in the middle of the entryway, running a hand through his hair, "Ah, well, I guess not everyone can look perfect like me." He wants to stop, wants to bite his tongue off to keep the words from flowing out, but he's just so bitter and salty and sad, so he lets loose another laugh and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Must be sad, really, to look like a cartoon character out of a nineties anime."

       Keith is just gaping at him before obvious rage takes over his expression, shoulders hunching a bit. Yeah, that looks a bit more like the guy who caused the main source of internal strife in Lance's life. "Hey, what the fuck is your deal? Did you invite me out here just to make fun of my hair?" His teeth are clenched, bared to Lance who stands there, smiling like nothing is wrong even as he screams in the confines of his head. "Seriously, are you that much of a petty frat boy?"

       "I mean," Lance says, "if you want the truth, you're hair also adds to your height a bit. 'Cuz you are pretty short, mullet-man."

       "I'm not fucking short!" Keith snaps, and suddenly there's a harsh clearing of a throat from the reception desk, and they both turn to see the very old and grouchy librarian glaring at them. She points sharply to the door and they both grumble apologies and slip outside.

       Once out, Keith whirls on Lance again, this time catching him a little off-guard, "If you think I'm actually going to spend a week with some asshole who thinks he can say whatever he wants about me just because I'm an undeclared major, then you've got another fucking thing coming, prick!"

       Lance notices how close Keith is to him, and still relishes in the fact that he has to look down a little to make eye contact. He takes a step forward himself, "Well, too bad, we're actually bound by contract to go through with this. I think the feeling is mutual when I say I wouldn't want a _hot head_ like you for a shadow." He gestures sharply to the doors of the library, "You even got us kicked out of the library with your yelling!"

       "I wasn't yelling!" Keith shouts back before Lance throws his arms up in the air.

       "Yes you were! You're yelling _right now!"_

       "And who's damn fault is that? _Yours,_ Lance!"

       "Oh, right, blame it on the guy who made a harmless joke about your hair-" Lance starts but Keith cuts him off again, crossing his arms and turning his head sharply to the side.

       "Nope, not doing this anymore. Go fuck yourself."

       Lance rolls his eyes and turns his head, even if the words sting deeper than he wants to admit. Even if they linger and stick to Lance's mind like wool to be painfully plucked off later. "Sure, whatever Keith."

       No response.

       He waits a minute and they stand in angry silence before Lance breaks it again, "So I take it you're a freshman just like me."

       Still no answer.

       Lance chances a look at him and finds him practically pouting into his shoulder, angry look held on as if it were more of a challenge than a reaction, "Know your way around campus?" He waits a breath, than another, then he sees Keith give a small shrug. "...I'll take that as a 'not really'. Lucky for you I know this campus like the back of my hand. I guess you can add that to the ever-growing list of why I'm a good Firefly to have." He turns and takes a few steps towards the pavilion before calling over his shoulder, "Follow if you want and I'll give you the grand tour of the campus." He doesn't hear anything for a moment, and he feels dread sink its pretty little claws between the joints in his spine, at least until the already too-familiar clicking of steel-toed boots on sidewalk start sounding behind him. He releases a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

       "Well, this is the library, obviously. And this is the pavilion we're walking through now." He's trying to keep the sharp edge out of his tone, but it's hard, especially when he's still a mess of complicated emotions and tying to bottle them all to spill in solitude later. He needs to get a new cork for that stupid thing. He pauses near the center of the pavilion and points to various buildings, noting that Keith doesn't close the distance between them fully, only looking where Lance is pointing but never at him. The sharp pang of regret blossoms under the brunet's sternum, and Lance tries to ignore it as he continues his general explanation of campus. "That's the core classroom building for more 'intellectual' majors-" he rolls his eyes as he raises his hands to make air quotes around the word 'intellectual', "-called Blue Hall, there's a huge computer classroom at the end. That one's White Hall. A lot of variety classes take place there, depending on the day and time. It gets hot as balls in the summer and the heating always breaks in the winter. Go figure right? Naturally, I have a writing and psychology class in there."

       He sighs, deflating a bit from his angry high from earlier, and his shoulders droop. Keith doesn't say anything, but Lance can feel him watching him from the corner of his eyes. He follows when Lance starts walking again, and the taller teen takes him through the campus grounds, going from one end and crossing nearly a two mile distance to the other side in a matter fifteen minutes. Lance can see the obvious confusion on Keith's face, when they come out near the Science building, which is near the commuter's parking lot, and he can't help the smile that pulls over his lips.

       "Pretty neat, huh? I hope you remember how we got here. Those are all super secret passages I take to cut through the ridiculous traffic jams that make a five minute walk into a twenty minute walk."

       Finally, Keith responds, guarded though it is. "You said you're a freshman, so how do you know all these shortcuts? Do you live on campus?"

       "I do but I’m just naturally brilliant with directions and memorizing the layouts of buildings and grounds," Lance responds with a flip of his short hair. It's not entirely a lie, but he can tell from Keith's expression that he doesn't buy it. So he falls quiet for a second, looking to the side as he worries the inside of his cheek. "Ah, well," Lance turns and readjusts the collar of his hood subconsciously, "My, uh- I've got like, three older siblings and they all went here, so they'd drag my parents to events and things on all different parts of the campus. My parents would, in turn, drag me and my little siblings with them. My older siblings would always show us how to get through all the event crowds by cutting around or through certain parts of the buildings." He sounds a little wistful, a little sad, but then he shrugs and runs a hand through his hair as he throws on a smirk he hadn't realized he'd dropped, "I guess over the years, the information just kind of stuck with me, you know?"

       Keith still seems tense with his hands fisted at his sides and his shoulders pinched up defensively, but now his look is less lingering anger and more curiosity. He crosses his arms and asks, "Your... siblings. What are they like?"

       "Oh _man,_ let me tell you," Lance starts with a dramatic eyeroll, waving his hands through the air dramatically as he speaks. "My little sister, Juliana? She would love you. Let her braid that mullet of yours just once, and you've got a friend for like, ever. Same with my little brother Enrique, only you have to let him beat you at Halo instead. Now, Daniel is super chill, he's the oldest, and he and my sister Andrea are the reigning champs at sick burns. I think they'd even give Pidge a run for their money - and _that's_ sayin' something, man. My other sister, Sam, is still in college. She's a senior though - Communications major - so she'll be done by the end of spring semester."

       "So she still goes here?" Keith asks, as they pass the science building and absently start walking around its exterior, Lance still talking fluidly.

       "Oh yeah, but she only has three classes, and has a car so she lives off-campus with my parents." He gives a little laugh, "She's kind of a brat sometimes, thinking she can tell me how to live my college life, but whatever man. She's almost gone anyways, and our majors are so different that any 'advice' she gives me is basically useless." Lance doesn't notice how he's dropped the top-tier air he carries about him, letting his face dawn a full smile and pleasant laughs ring forth from pink lips. He's more relaxed, naturally so and not like a cocky douche-bag who thinks he's better than everyone else. Keith falls into step beside him more comfortably, and finds himself genuinely interested in what Lance is saying. His hands unclench, even sliding loosely into his front pockets.

       "So what about you?" Lance asks, taking a small mental note to the fact they've both kind of stopped walking now and are standing about a foot and a half from each other. Keith is still half under a tree that decorates the earth next to the sidewalk, his skin dappled by the shade cast by the foliage, with Lance standing in the full brunt of the dull, clouded light. The area around them is quiet, despite being a Saturday afternoon. Most students were either inside working or out and about the town. The breeze picks up for a moment and tousles his hair, the leaves singing softly around them as they dance in their branches. Lance catches the way the ends of Keith's hair curl and bob in the wind, the way his jacket ruffles slightly and he can see the slightly shorter boy repress a shudder. _Must not be one for cold weather,_ Lance thinks.

       Lance catches the flash of confusion on Keith's face, so he quirks a brow as he clarifies. "Got any annoying siblings or cousins?"

       "Not really. No parents, either." Keith replies with a shrug, tilting his lips a bit. Lance thinks it's cute that he pronounces either as 'aye-ther' instead of 'ee-ther'. "Just my bro Shiro, but we're not actually related."

       Lance blinks, obviously confused, and his brows scrunch together between his eyes, "Wait, you mean, You don't have anyone? Besides, uh, Shiro." Keith shakes his head, and Lance feels himself fill up with more regret and guilt when he sees the low-key sadness in the other's eyes that he refused to show on his face. Lance turns his face away, reaching up to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. "Uh, shit, sorry. Probably shouldn't have asked, then."

       "It's fine. I'm used to it," the dark-haired boy replies calmly, not a hint of anger in his voice this time as he waves a hand dismissively. "It doesn't bother me. All I really need is Shiro anyways."

       Lance drops his hand a bit, twiddling the pale fabric of his hood between nimble fingers, still a little hesitant to meet Keith's eyes. "Well, uh, can I ask what Shiro's like then?"

       "Oh," Keith puffs a breath up and his bangs jump up, but the action isn't sharp or silencing, almost subconscious in away, before Keith replies."Well, he's about five-ish years older than me?" Keith brings up a closed hand, looking to the left as the knuckle of his forefinger presses against his lips for a moment. "We were adopted by the same couple around the same time a few years ago, but from different orphanages. He's insanely smart and too nice for his own good, in my opinion. His friend Matt says he has too much faith in strangers."

       "Sounds like an okay dude," Lance says quietly, bringing Keith's eyes back to him. And dammit, yeah, Lance can see the little bits of purple in his eyes like pieces of a shattered stained-glass window. How the heck were those natural? "Where did he go to school, if he went?"

       "Altea State University."

       "What?" Lance squawks, and his face expands in surprise, "Dude, that's like, the best college there is."

       "I know," Keith says, blinking once.

       Lance almost wants to slap the unimpressed look off his face, but instead he continues talking. "Shit dude, that school's crazy expensive and hard to get into without a recommendation."

       "Yeah, he got a lot of scholarships and grants because of his grades and volunteer work." Keith gives a tiny smirk and Lance wants to melt on the spot, even if it is barely forty degrees out.

       "What's he study?" Lance asks, genuinely curious as to how the other was spending his privilege of attending Lance's dream school. He doesn't even know who Shiro is other than name, a vague age, and that he seems like a good person. The last aspect making him seem like the complete opposite of Keith, so far.

       "He's a Double Major in Astrophysics and Astronomy." Keith lets a smug grin break out onto his face as Lances gapes at him.

       "That's so awesome!"Lance shouts, his face lighting up as Keith's eyebrows fly to his hairline. Lance's eyes are sparkling and his grin is stretched to his eyes and gleaming, a light flush of excitement to his coffee-colored skin "Those are super cool, what the heck? He has to be wicked smart."       

       "Yeah, he's also the president of his fraternity and works at the cafe a few blocks from campus - this campus," Keith couldn't help the smug tone that coated his words and Lance didn't even care because he had every right to be smug with such a cool guy for an older brother, even if they weren't actually related. He also doesn't miss the swell of Keith's chest in pride and the happy gleam to his eyes when he speaks about the older male, and Lance understands the feeling all too well.

       "Keith, Keithers, my main man, that is-"

       "Awesome, I know," and this time Keith lets his grin soften to a fond smile, and Lance's heart flutters rapidly between his lungs. The dark-haired boy looks up then, and notes that the sky getting darker, the silky grey of an overcast churning to a swelling sea of washed-out blacks and stormy blues. "I think it's going to rain soon. Do you want me to give you a ride back to the dorms?"

       Lance starts out of his excited bubble and blinks a few times, then allows himself to don a flirty smirk against his better judgement. "What, trying to get in my dorm already? At least buy me dinner first." He laughs but the look on Keith's face shows he doesn't actually understand what's funny.

       He quirks a dark brow, "Dinner? It's not even one yet, so wouldn't lunch be better?" He tilts his head a bit, smiling, "Are you hungry?"

       Lance pauses, looking surprised as he stares at the Keith, who stares back. Was he really offering to get food with him? After how much of a dick Lance had been to him not even half an hour before? Guilt and regret tried to gnaw under his shoulder blades, so he rolled them back and cleared his throat, "I mean, I'm not actually that hungry yet, so why don't we get coffee or something instead? I think I suggested that earlier."

       He lets out a silent breath of relief when Keith nods, "Sure. We're by the parking lot where I parked my bike, too." He starts walking again, passing Lance and taking the lead this time.

       Lance follows, easily sliding into step beside him, "Why don't we go to Loca Mocha? Because - personally? - I hate the campus coffee shop. All the students that work there are dicks and never make my lattes right."

       "Sure, that's the café Shiro and I work at, anyways. I can get us discounts," Keith replies, running a quick hand through his bangs as they near the end of the sidewalk. "And I completely agree with you there, even though I also work at the school café as well. But the students who order from us aren't much better people, in my opinion."

       "Fair point, fair point- Wait you and Shiro both work at LM? How have I never seen either of you before?" Lance's voice is laced with confusion and a bit of betrayal, "I go there all the time with Hunk and Pidge!"

       Keith shrugs, "I only work closing shifts and really  early opening shifts before classes. Shiro will usually work those with me but sometimes he closes on weekends."

       "Ohhh," Lance drawls out, looking enlightened as they paused by the crosswalk, waiting for a few cars to stroll by so they could make their way to the other side where the entrance to the parking lot was. "That explains why I haven't seen you guys around. I'm usually only there between afternoon and late-evening classes." Keith only hums and then moves to cross the road the second the last car slides past. But Lance looks over as he subconsciously checks both ways anyways, and freezes when he sees another vehicle zooming up the road at a far-too-fast speed than the regulated twenty-five miles an hour.

       And heading right towards Keith, who is just about all the way off the sidewalk and somehow oblivious to the immediate danger.

       Lance doesn't think, just reaches out and grabs the other boy's collar of his jacket and yanks him back, hard. He wraps his other arm around Keith's waist as he stumbles back with him, keeping them both upright.

       Then Keith is turning to him with a snarl ready on his lips, "Lance, what the fuck-!" But before he can even finish out the curse, the other car speeds by, so close that it whips the air around them and roughly shoves Keith's hair into his eyes. He blinks rapidly, glare gone as they both stand there for a minute, breathing slightly irregular before Lance unwinds himself from Keith and takes a few steps back like he was holding a live flame.

       "S-Sorry, sorry," he stutters, holding his hands up defensively as Keith turns to him, "It's just, you were gunna get hit and I, I don't know, I just reacted!"

       Keith blinks at him in calm awe before he swallows and straightens up. He looks at Lance with a confusing slew of emotions that Lance can't even begin to decipher before they're all gone and replaced by a small smile that makes the bottom of Lance's stomach drop out.

       "Thanks," Keith says, a little distant but he sounds like he means it. "You saved my skin."

       "No problem, man." Lance prays the heat on the back of his neck doesn't spread to his cheeks, and he flinches when Keith reaches forward and flicks him on the forehead, leaving him bewildered and rubbing the spot as Keith turns back to the road.

       "You're still a fuckboi, though," he laughs softly, looking both ways this time before stepping out onto the pavement, with Lance following as his fingers still rubbed the spot on his forehead that wouldn't stop tingling.

♡ ♡ ♡

       Lance was absolutely awestruck. He was standing there, in the wide expanse of the cracked and grey parking lot, looking at the absolute most gorgeous piece of work he's ever seen. His car wasn't much to sneeze at, and Lance would never love anything more than her. She was a lovely Tesla Flight Endeavor that was barely used before her previous owner, his great uncle Nathaniel, passed away. He'd left the car to Lance's mother, who in turn gave it to Lance. She was a beautiful shade of ocean blue, trim the color of those fluffy clouds you see on perfect sunny days over wide fields. She growled like a wild cat and obeyed Lance's every switch of gears and twist of the wheel. But _this_ , this was something else entirely.

       He was staring at, as Pidge had mentioned earlier, an almost state-of-the-art Dreadnaught KM 200 Motorcycle with custom twin hydraulic boosters. It was a heavy red hue that practically vibrated against the dull grey of the cement, the wings barely fitting in the washed-out painted lines that marked the spot as a parking space. It was lean and streamline, looking almost shark-like, and the muzzle and wing grills looked like rows of teeth. The paint was scratched and chipped a bit, the big zero and one painted on either side of the tail cracked and faded in pieces like asymmetrical scars. And Lance loved it like he'd just witness the birth of his first-born child.

       Keith was watching him, arms crossed in front of his chest, smug grin making his lightly freckled nose scrunch up and his eyes gleam proudly. All of which was evident in the confident and victorious tone lining his voice when he spoke. "Like what you see?"

       Lance continued to gape for a moment, before he remembered how legs worked and slowly moved around it. He drank it all in, hand hovering over the surface as he moved but never letting skin meet steel, almost as if he were afraid he'd taint it. "Coño," he breathed, standing on the side opposite of Keith now and he looked up to see the dark-haired boy chuckle lightly. "Where did you even get this?"

       "I built it," Keith said, closing the distance and moving to the thicker end of the tail behind the cockpit, hitting a button that released a latch. A section of the frame popped out of line, and Keith flipped it open to reveal a decent-sized trunk area where a couple helmets were stored. He picked up the black one and tossed it to Lance, who caught it easily as he stood.

       "Wait, you-," Lance stuttered, looking between his shadow and the beast that lay quiet before him. "There's no way you _built_ this! It's gorgeous! I don't even think Pidge and Hunk _combined_ would be able to make something like this, and they're ace robotic students!"

       Keith felt a little warmth at the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there briefly as he pushed down his embarrassment. "Well, I did have some help from Shiro, but he mainly helped with schematics. The actual construction was mainly me, and Shiro, whenever he had some time to spare between work, classes, and fraternity events." Keith shrugged and moved towards the open seat, swinging a leg over the leather and sitting down with a soft sound. He pulled on his helmet, which matched the color of his ride, after pulling out his ponytail. And Lance wasn't going to say he was right, but he was totally right; Keith absolutely had a mullet. And somehow, he made it look good. Keith turned to give Lance a smirk that was more pride than smugness and Lance blinked at him before moving to follow suit, though he was a little pensive as he slid in behind the slightly shorter male. He slipped the helmet on and found it was a little big, as if made for someone bigger than him. "How about we take her for a spin before heading to the cafe?"

       Lance felt his cheeks warm a bit at the eager look on Keith's face, despite the nervous shiver that slid down his spine. "I'm down. So tell me, are you the kind of guy that names his vehicles?" Lance asked as he felt a bubble of anxiety in his stomach. He was procrastinating the inevitable, which would be him having to saddle up closer to the other and put his arms around his waist to keep himself from falling off the sporty vehicle. "Cuz I mean, if you're not, I think I would actually be pissed that this alluring, one-of-a-kind creature, has been denied a right it clearly deserves."

       Keith looked over his shoulder at him, and under the tinted visor, Lance could see him raise a questioning brow before he shrugged and turned back to the controls. "I'm not terribly creative with names, but I've just been calling her Red."

       Lance snorted as Keith leaned forward to grasp the handlebars, "Wow, how ironic. I just call my car Blue."

       "Alright Mr. Originality, if you don't want to fall off of my bike, I suggest you hold onto me." Keith said, flicking a few switches that had the dashboard lighting up. "She's got a bit of a jump to her engine."

       Lance could practically feel the coy smile on the other's face before Keith pressed a switch near the base of the left handlebar. The bike roared to life, lighting up with a neon green electricity and jerked forwards, eager to get on the road. It was only a couple feet, but Lance thrust himself forward with an undignified noise and wrapped his arms tightly around the other's waist. Keith gave a soundless laugh, but his shoulders shaking was more than enough for Lance to send him a glare behind his own visor. Then with a twist of the handlebars, they were zooming across the parking lot, dodging other parked vehicles and soaring onto the open road. Lance would deny that he was hiding his face in the space between the other's shoulder blades, clinging to Keith as if his life depended on it while the other swung them around, diving around other vehicles which honked angrily at him, before the ride settled out.

       "Are you going to hide against me forever, Lanceleot?" Keith mused, raising his voice against the wind and whir of Red's engine. "You're not scared, are you?"

       Lance growled something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like "With you at the helm? Terrified." He took a pensive look up, and saw they were coasting at a decent speed down the road. He straightened a bit, even though he kept his grip on the other firm, and peeked his head over Keith's shoulder. He looked around a bit, then loosened his grip a little, feeling reassured that he wasn't about to be literally thrown to the curb. The wind whipped around them, biting, with their speed, and Lance found his mouth smiling into it.

       At least, until Keith took a hard right turn, which caused Lance to reflexively latch onto him again and bury his face into his back. Keith laughed and Lance hated him for it, cursing him and his erratically beating heart under his breath. He blamed that on the other's wild driving, and not how the heat of Keith's body sank through Lance's layers, washing over his skin like the ocean tide. It also definitely wasn't because he could feel Keith's own heart thumping powerfully inside his rib cage as Lance clung to him.

       "Come on, you're missing the great view," Keith said loudly maybe ten minutes later, his voice being carried back to Lance by the wind. The tan boy allowed himself another peek, and found his back straightening as he sat up in surprised, eyes widening in awe.

       They had left the city behind, taking back roads that led them to a winding road that wrapped around an almost mountainous structure, laced with swirls of red and orange. But Lance's gaze was held by what was beyond the drop of that cliff. Water stretched out below them, heavy and heaving with white waves that crashed against each other, slamming against the rocky cliff-side at the bottom and sending misty spin-off to the breeze. The rolling clouds above them, now thicker and swirling threateningly, clumped at the horizon and reflected the deep blue of the ocean as it rocked beneath it.

       It was as if some force - fate, destiny, God, whatever people wanted to call it, Lance didn't care at the moment - was giving him an apology in the form of the most breathtakingly powerful sight he'd seen in his life. As if the words on his skin were meant to be the checkpoint in his life that opened the door to endless opportunities and experiences he could never have access to on his own.

       But those were the expectations and dreams of a child, one who thought he could avoid ever having to deal with his future by sculpting his entire persona and quirks around it. The wishes of a boy who wanted to make those five haunting words disappear, to tear them right off his skin so he'd never have to look at them again.

       Instead, he readjusted his arms on Keith's waist, leaning against him again so the side of his face was pressed to his back, ignoring the lack of warmth caused by the small wall of hard plastic that protected his head. His eyes watched the rolling of the sea as they drove, and he wondered idly if the salt in his mouth was from the rising sea spray, or the bitter reminder that he was currently holding onto his soulmate, who had marked him with the violent words that Lance felt so apprehensive and ashamed of.

       "Like it?" Keith asked, and it was almost too quiet for Lance to hear over the sound of crashing waves and a pounding engine. Lance didn't reply, or rather, didn't have the words to. So he settled for nodding against the other's back, and that seemed like a satisfactory answer to Keith.

       Keith looped them around and back into town, reentering on the other end and quickly reaching the cafe at a more street-safe pace. Red's growling turned into a soft purr as Keith parked her behind the building in an employee spot, cutting the engine and pulling off his helmet with a swift tug. He shook his head to loosen his hair before turning back to look at Lance.

       Lance popped off the helmet, running a hand roughly through his short and fluffy locks before he moved to disembark. He found his pelvis and hip joints aching from how hard he'd been squeezing the sides of the bike with his legs so as not to fall off, wincing as he stood and placed the helmet on the seat. "Well, that was an adventure and a half. I thought I was gunna vomit. I felt like Hunk!"

       "Who's Hunk?" Keith asked as he moved past Lance to the trunk, unlatching it.

       "My room mate. He gets queasy ridiculously easy, especially in vehicles," Lance explained, handing Keith his helmet when he motioned for it. "I can't tell you how many times I've had to clean my car because of him. Let's just say I found a use for that weird habit of collecting plastic bags I inherited from my mamá."

       Keith wrinkled his nose and shut the trunk, "That's rough, buddy."

       "I know! He's impossible to watch gory horror movies with." Lance continued as they both started circling around the building, slipping one hand into his pants pocket as the other waved animatedly through the air. "And Pidge? Oh man, they're even worse, but in a scary way. They _love_ the psychologically fucked up horror movies, you know, the one's that really mess with your mind and make you question existence? Worst part is, some of the stuff they come up with is scarier than the movie itself." He shudders and Keith gives him a sympathetic glance.

       "I'll have to remember that," he says. "They've been trying to get me to watch something called _Irreversible_ for a while now. Is it a horror film?" The dark-haired boy looked over at Lance and had all but to note the absolutely astounding speed in which the blood left his face, and how he covered his mouth with the back of his hand, as if he were about to vomit, to know that he was right. "I'll uh, I'll take that as a yes. Sorry."

       "No, no," Lance swallowed a hard lump in his throat and forced his more chipper demeanor back on, giving a couple of laughs as he tried to physically wave off the heavy air. "You're fine. I'm just, not really one for the more mind-fucking horror movies and that one in particular is... terrifyingly scarring." He cleared his throat and took a few hops to get in front of the other as they looped the final corner, moving to get the door first. He sent a much more natural smirk to the other as he slid a hand over the sensor and opened it for him. "After you, good sir." Keith raises a brow but steps in with a nod of thanks, sliding up to the register with Lance quickly in tow.

       "Hello! Welcome to Loca Mocha!" Says a chipper voice from behind the counter, belonging to a cute girl with short blonde hair cropped to her jawline. She appeared to be drying a tray of coffee mugs that had just come out of the dishwasher. She turns as she speaks and her eyes light up when they land on Keith. "Oh, Keith! I am so glad you're here - wait, why are you here? You don't work until seven."

       "I'm actually here for a drink this time," Keith responds dully.

       "Oh, is this about that shadowing program you were complaining about yesterday?" The barista says with a smile, tucking a hair behind her ear in between putting a mug away and reaching for another one to dry. "Because no offense, but other than me and Shiro, you're awful at making friends."

       Keith grimaces and Lance quirks a brow at him, giving the dark-haired boy a sulky pout, "Aw, and I thought we had something special!" Lance grins when Keith's look turns more sour, if possible. But then he's turning back to the barista and leaning over the counter with his suave attitude sliding back in place. "Naturally, you're nothing compared to a pretty lady though, mullet-man."

       Keith looks ready to either walk out the door without a word or sock Lance in the mouth, maybe both. He does neither, instead, rubbing a tired hand over his face and ignoring Lance entirely. "Yes, I'm going to be shadowing him starting Monday." He turns to Lance and momentarily debates on introducing her before internally shrugging, "This is Linette, my coworker."

       "Ah, Linette! A beautiful name for a beautiful girl," Lance hums and rests his chin on his hand as he looks back to her. She's still smiling, but it's more polite then honest when aimed at Lance.

       "Thank you," She says, putting the mug she'd been drying away and walking over to the cash register, "So what can I get you guys?"

       Keith gestures for Lance to go first, and Lance grins, "I'll have a medium white chocolate mocha latte with a shot of espresso and two pumps of cinnamon, with half and half, please."

       "Do you even have blood anymore or is it all sugar?" The dark-haired teen questions, giving Lance a sour look, mouth twisted in a disgruntled pout.

       "Oh, definitely entirely sugar. How else am I supposed to be sweet enough to rot people's teeth?" Lance grins when Keith huffs.

       Linette is typing down a bunch of abbreviations on a small digital notepad next to the cash register and she looks back up after a moment, finger still poised over the mess of letters and numbers, "Can I get a name for this order?"

       "Can I give you my number instead?" Keith audibly groans behind him, and Lance turns to see him pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes crunched shut as he massages the skin lightly. "Lance," the spindly teen adds as he looks back to Linette, noting how she rolls her eyes while still waiting for his name, all while keeping that polite smile on her face. She writes it down with a fluid motion and drops the cursor down a few bars for the next order.

       "What about you, Keith?" She asks, "The usual?"

       "Sure," Keith says, blinking once as his annoyed look holds onto is features persistently, but there's no trace of it in his voice when he speaks to her. "Thanks."

       She nods and a flurry of finger strokes later, there's another coded order on the blue screen hovering to her right. "Are you guys paying together or separately?"

       "Together" Lance says at the same time Keith says "Separately."

       They look at each other, staring off before Lance turns to Linette with a charming smile, "Just put it together, sweetheart. It's my treat."

       "I don't see you with the employee discounts," Keith snarks, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the brunet.

       "I don't mind paying full price when such a lovely being is making my drink," Lance snarks back, and Keith grunts but says no more.

       Linette shakes her head and gives the register a few taps. "Honestly, Keith? I'm a little surprised you didn't just forcefully pay for these like you always do." She turns to Lance, "That'll be seven thirty-eight."

       Lance whips his card out from his wallet and hands it to her. She slides it through the scanner almost absentmindedly and hands it back to him as the transfer is almost immediately approved. Linette dismisses them, saying she'll bring the drinks out to them when she's finished, and turns her back to start working. Keith turns on his heel and walks over to the array of tables and chairs spread around the room.

       Loca Mocha was a relatively small cafe - at least, compared to the neighboring restaurants and food businesses - that prioritized comfort over profit, and that's exactly why Lance liked it. It was quaint and quiet and familiar, the atmosphere soft and friendly during any time of the day, no matter how busy it got. It was also a little bit of a bakery, with an array of fresh pastries and baked delights sitting pretty in a lighted display window for customers to choose from. Each plate was adorned with a little sign that said what it held, and how much one piece or slice of it was; Hunk loved them all. As Lance turned to follow Keith, he noticed a small bar on the other end of the room, empty and closed until later in the evening, when the night life started to come out and the older college students crept from their dorms for a bit of alcoholic fun and relaxation.

       As Lance slid into a seat across from Keith, noting how the other had picked a seat distinctly next to a window, he began recounting other aspects of the room. The hardwood floor had been polished, the fluorescent lighting shining off the deep burnt sienna color. The walls were a lighter tone of the same color, rising from the floor as wood and cutting off halfway with a decorative wood piece that lined the entirety of the room, before turning to speckled white paint over drywall. The surface of which were decorated with tasteful ink pieces and monochrome photo prints all framed and hung with care, sitting below a pebbled, white ceiling. The windows jutted out like gentle bumps in the building, creating shelves for small plants and decorative candles to sit. The chairs were well-matched with the tables, polished wood painted white, sitting around dark umber. Lance could hear a light ambiance filtering through the room, a set of guitar strings being strummed absently with a breathy voice singing words a little too softly to be audible.

       "Been awhile since I've been here," Lance sighs, a small smile creeping on his lips. "It looks like they've done a bit of priming since then."

       Keith snorts, "Oh, I didn't know interior design was the art major you were talking about earlier."

       "For your information, interior design knowledge is an absolute _must_ for anyone, regardless of major." Lance huffs as he flicks his air out of his face with a sharp turn of his head, "And I'm an illustration major, so I _do_ have some knowledge on interior designing for backgrounds for my pieces."

       "I at least hope your taste in furniture is better than your taste in beverages."

       Lance gives the other a squinted scowl, "And exactly what is wrong with my taste in beverages?"

       "You mean besides the face you order like an annoying white girl at Starbucks?" Keith deadpans, but his slight smirk gives away the tease.

       "Oh, ha ha- you're so funny." Lance rolls his eyes and leans forward on the table with one arm, pointing sharply at the dark-haired boy, "And what exactly did you get, if I may ask?"

       "Green tea with a spoonful of honey." He raises a brow as Lance wrinkles his nose in distaste.

       "You've even got the taste buds of a hippie to go with that mullet you're sporting."

       "There's nothing wrong with my hair!" Keith snaps lowly and Lance only rolls his eyes.

       "Sure, keep telling yourself that. I'm sure the girls who are into mullets will believe you, if any exist."

       "Good thing I don't have to worry about that."

       Lance lets confusion pull at his features, "Why's that?"

       Keith doesn't elaborate, merely shrugging as he leans back and crosses his arms.  There's a bit of a silence between them and Lance turns to look out the window, watch the roll and wash of the clouds as they gather together for the oncoming storm. He absently wonders if coming to the cafe was actually a good idea. What if he gets stuck there, waiting out the rain because Keith's bike is open seating? He could always ask his sister for a ride, but that also means he'd have to promise to do something for her in return, and the last time he did that, he'd rolled his ankle while sporting the black stilettos she'd made him wear for a week. He sighed absently and moved to lean against his hand.

       "Why are you wearing that?" Keith's voice invades his thoughts and brings him back to reality. Lance turns and blinks at him, and it's apparent by his blank expression that he's missed the conversation topic and is completely lost. So Kieth jerks his head towards the lip of brown leather sticking out from Lance's left sleeve to clarify. "That. The leather bracelet."

       "What?" Lance says before actually registering what the other is asking, looking between him and the brace rapidly, "Oh. This is just-" He races for a word that won't give him away. He settles on 'fashionable' and Keith seems to buy it, so they settle into their own respective silences again. He's actually a little flattered the other seemed to care enough to ask if he was injured, despite the horrible attitude Lance had been giving him since they left the cyber café. Lance suddenly remembers his phone when he shifts his weight, the bulky device jabbing into his butt, so he reaches back and pulls it out with his left hand. He taps the home button to wake the screen, and winces when he sees the thirty-seven ignored messages and two missed call notifications sitting neatly on the screen. He unlocks his phone and checks the calls first, sighing in relief when he sees it's just Hunk. He knows he was probably just calling to check on him, since Hunk's phone doesn't exactly have unlimited messaging or data, but calling is unrestricted. He'll make sure to call him back before he heads back to campus.

       Then he's opening his messenger app, and notes without surprise that about thirty of his messages are from Pidge, who is rambling and pestering him for details and information about Keith, and the others are all from his fraternity group chat. He ignores those, and pulls up Pidge's thread before typing a reply expertly with his thumb.

_hey : [1:13 PM]_

_sorry bout that : [1:13 PM]_

_didnt realize i had my phone on silent : [1:14 PM]_

       He doesn't have to wait long for a reply, since Pidge's last message was sent only three minutes ago.

_[1:14 PM] : mmmhm sure_

_[1:14 PM] : you and i both know you turned your phone off the second you left the cc_

_watchu talkin bout willis : [1:14 PM]_

_[1:15 PM] : lance it is 2016_

_[1:15 PM] : please do not make references to a show that's older than my mother_

_diff'rent strokes was a great show : [1:16 pm]_

_[1:16 PM] : if you want to call a 1980's sitcom about two black kids who live with a white dude that used to fuck their mom before she dies 'great'_

_[1:17 PM] : then by all means, don't let me stop you_

_wow : [1:17 PM]_

_alright : [1:17 PM]_

_first of all : [1:18 PM]_

_rude : [1:18 PM]_

_[1:19 PM] : lance mcclain has single-handedly figured out how to wrap up the entirety of my complex and expansive personality in one word, everybody_

_no, that would be 'salty' : [1:19 PM]_

_[1:20 PM] : someone call the press, he's done it again_

_[1:20 PM] : get this man a medal_

_you wound me pidge : [1:20 PM]_

_i thought we were friends :c : [1:21 PM]_

_[1:21 PM] : oh we are_

_[1:21 PM] : i mean, who else am i supposed to test my inventions on_

_[1:22 PM] : though remaining on the subject of friendship, i would like to know how your date with your boyfriend is going_

_[1:22 PM] : gimmie the deets home slice_

       Lance grits his teeth before he replies, shouldering off the 'boyfriend' comment before it can get under his skin.

_secondly : [1:23 PM]_

_hes not my boyfriend : [1:23 PM]_

_hes my shadow and im just tryna be friendly : [1:24 PM]_

_since : [1:24 PM]_

_you know : [1:24 PM]_

_were gunna be stuck 2gether for the next week : 1:25 PM]_

_but he's just sitting across from me with his arms crossed all broody and quiet : [1:25 PM]_

_[1:25 PM] : maybe that's because you're on your phone_

_excellent observation sherlock : [1:26 PM]_

_what ever would i do without you : [1:26 PM]_

_[1:27 PM] :  shut up wattson_

_wait : [1:27 PM]_

_do u actually think hes offended im on my phone? : [1:28 PM]_

       Before he can get an answer, he's interrupted by the voice across from him slicing through his focus with another question, "Are you left-handed?" Lance looks up to meet his eyes with those of Keith, who is looking at him with a tinge of curiosity in his bored expression.

       "Yeah," Lance answers after maybe a heartbeat too long.

       "So doesn't that mean you're soulmark is on your left wrist?"

       Lance knows he's just curious, or at least, he hopes he's just curious because he doesn't like where this is going at all. "Yeah."

       Keith blinks once, as if registering something in his mind, "Is that why you wear the brace?"

       Lance totally called it; he absolutely does not like where this is going. This is rocky waters he's steered far, far away from ever since he was young. A raging sea he refused to explore, no matter how rewarding the end result may be. "No, I already said I wear it because it's fashionable." He tries to keep the edge out of his voice, but again, it's hard when soulmate is asking about the cause of all your strife and insecurities, which he placed on you via fate.

       "Really?" Keith quirks a brow disbelievingly, "Just seems like a soulmark would be the kind of thing you would brag about."

       "How would you know?" Lance barely keeps his voice from becoming a hiss, reigns back the violent scowl trying take over his face. "Maybe I'm not who you first perceived me to be."

       "Well then, why do you cover it?" Keith is just not giving up and Lance's immeasurable amount of patience is running out very fast.

       "Well why do you cover yours with those stupid gloves?" _Alright Lance, good one_ , he thinks. _Kick the question back at him and keep it off yourself._

       All he gets is another shrug and an unhurt gaze, "I just like wearing these gloves, and they're good for gripping my bike's handlebars. I don't cover it on purpose." _Of course he doesn't_ , Lance thinks to himself, and he wants to slam his head into the table when Keith asks him again, "So why do you cover yours? Because, you know, you're a terrible liar."

       "So I've been told," the brunet grumbles lowly, looking away. He hopes maybe falling silent and just not answering will reward him with a pass, but when he looks back at Keith a few moments later, he's met with a set jaw and expectant gaze. He chews the inside corner of his mouth as he thinks, feeling anxiety bubble up in his stomach under the other's gaze. Should he tell him? Should he show Keith his words etched into Lance's skin? Would he even care? Would he even feel guilt or regret about being the cause of all of Lance's self-confidence issues and insecurities and bullying? Lance almost snorted to himself; probably not. If anything, he might use it as an excuse to ditch Lance and ride with someone else into the metaphorical sunset on his gorgeous motorcycle.

       It's probably better like that, anyways.

       He looks away again, sighing out a quiet, "It's unrequited. My soulmark. So I cover it so I'm not constantly reminded of that fact and so I can't accidentally touch it and send my emotions to them. That's just burdening." It's one of the few solid excuses he gives out to people who are annoyingly persistent and nosy about his soulmark, usually only lashing out when they insist on actually seeing the mark, which very rarely happens.

       When he turns back to Keith after a few breaths, he's surprised to find the dark-haired boy's face smothered in a look like someone just slit his dog's throat in front of him. He looks so hurt and betrayed that it actually catches Lance off guard, and he lifts his head from his hand as concern knits itself in his brow. "Dude, are you okay?"

       Keith stutters out of his unrepressed horror and he dons a sort of awkwardly frustrated scowl that he points at a faded coffee stain on the table, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I just-" He glances up and then back down, "That's... really unfair. I know it's a really rare thing but... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

       "No, you shouldn't have," Lance says, but his words aren't exactly angry or snappy, more like wary or cautious. "But it's fine. Forgive and forget, right?"

       "Yeah," Keith mumbles before Linette struts over and places their drinks in front of them with a wide smile that they both try - and fail miserably - to return. She glances between them quickly before walking back to the counter, leaving the air to fill with a heavy silence in her wake. Neither Lance or Keith know how to break it, or if they even _want_ to break it. The silence stretched between them like a scar over a gaping wound, and they simultaneously reach for their drinks, taking an experimental sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave in and jumped into the Soulmates AU bandwagon. Whoops.
> 
> Also, when Lance says his birthday, it's July 22nd, 1998. I live in America and it's very common to just say "twenty" instead of "two-thousand" when giving the year. like "2016" would be "twenty sixteen". It's also kind of a slang, which I think Lance would use. Just in case anyone was confused.
> 
> Also, I don't have any music major friends at college, just art junkies with some theater majors. So I'm kind of only working with info I've picked up from friends of friends who are music majors/minors
> 
> Lance's student ID is a mash of numbers and not actually related to anything. Just FYI
> 
> If you want to tag/show me in anything relating to this story, my tumblr is Seabreezy.tumblr.com


	2. Here Comes A Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's shadow both exceeds, and fails to meet, his expectations.
> 
> ( The end is more gay, fluffy intermission than real plot but honestly, even _I_ needed a break from the langst lol )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's.... so much dialogue. I am so sorry, jesus. I'm ashamed to say Lance and Keith are probably kinda OOC in this???? I'm just apologizing now.

       "I absolutely cannot believe this textbook is over two-hundred dollars," Hunk scoffs from his spot on the floor, legs crossed and back against the wall between the doorway and Lance's messy, paper-strewn desk stacked with sketchbooks that are stuffed with loose papers.

       Lance rolls his eyes as he crosses his room, weaving through the piles of clothes scattered over the carpeted floor. He's picking through the ones that smell more like him and less like a football gym locker room. He's got a pair of black slacks on, held to his skinny waist with a worn leather belt that was a hand-me-down gift from his brother. It was his only real belt, so the wear and tear was obvious on the grey fringing edges, the hole he almost always tightened it to a mess of white fibers and black leather. He was shirtless, save for a white tank-top that he wore under almost everything, one of many so as not to constantly have an underlying smell of sweat and over-sprayed cologne lingering on him. He was searching for his white button down, the one he always wore to work, with faded and bleached out soil and fertilizer stains from the cuffs.

       "Try paying for art supplies, dude," Lance said as he picked through another pile, frowning as each white article of clothing he tugged free was the wrong one, and tossing them aside to make the mess of his room a little heavier.

       "Okay, true, but like, do I really need this textbook?" Hunk is pouting at the computer screen, clearly displeased with its contents. The bridge of his nose was scrunched as the look of disgust practically poured out of his eyes, twisting his brow and pulling at one side of his mouth.

       "What book is it?" The brunet asks absently, not really curious but he had this ability to keep conversation flowing even while he wasn't entirely paying attention.

       "Springer Handbook of Robotics, seventh edition." Lance hummed at Hunk, giving a distracted assent for the other to continue. "I mean, I've been fine so far without it? But we have, like, one assignment where we're going to need it and it counts for a third of our grade?" He looked at his room mate in distraught disbelief, gesturing sharply to the computer screen as if it were the direct cause of his anguish. "A _third,_ Lance! I mean, he doesn't give out midterms or finals so I guess he does need something to base our heavier grades on but really? A third?"

       Lance had moved on to another pile, more recently stacked and still smelling like his strawberry axe spray. "I don't know what you want me to tell you Hunk, why don't you just grit your teeth and buy it? Maybe you'll learn something from it that your professor can't teach you."

       "I don't know if I can actually afford it, is the problem," Hunk says lowly, returning his gaze to the screen and squinting at it accusingly.

       "Do you need me to buy it for you?" Lance asked absently, though he wouldn't have a single problem with it if Hunk accepted. He still owed his best friend about four meals with how often he bought something for Lance when he needed it, or brought him food when he was dying of hunger in the library during a study session.

       Hunk sighed as if in defeat before giving a resolved, "No, I just need-" He was cut off by Lance whipping out a shirt and holding it high in the air, the wrinkled fabric fluttering with the movement for a moment before sagging in his grip.

       "Aha! I knew I'd find you!" Lance quickly turned it rightside out and started slipping it on, trying to smooth out some of the deeper creases as he did so. "Sorry Hunk, you were saying?"

       Hunk blinked at him, "I was saying that I don't need you to buy it for me, I just need a job. But all the on-campus jobs are filled up and I could barely get financial aid for tuition because my parents make too much for a yearly salary."

       "Then why don't you try looking off campus for a job?" Lance asks, his lips puckering as he squints down at his chest, popping the buttons through their respective set of holes to cover himself. "Like, I don't know, one of the cafes or a diner. You could be a cook?" He can see Hunk's face twist in distaste and shrugs, "Alright, so maybe not a cook." He walks over to the large, full-body mirror he keeps leaned against the wall for outfit inspection, making sure the collar is tucked and straight and the buttons run smoothly down his center. It's a little big on him, but he usually makes up for that by tucking it tightly into his pants. Then he gets an idea. He turns back to Hunk with a gleam in his eyes that his friend knows all too well, and he doesn't know if the end result is going to be a good thing or a bad thing. "Why don't you work at the flower shop with me?"

       "Balmera Nursery?" Hunk says, getting a nod from Lance before he drops into a thinking face: eyes tilted downward, softly half-lidded as one hand comes up to hover in front of partially puckered lips. "Hm, maybe. I've never done much of taking care of plants though, outside of watering the ones at my house when my parents are gone. You always take care of the ones we have in here."

       "Well, why don't you ask?" Lance says as he crosses to his desk and starts rifling through the jacket he'd tossed there to make sure it still held his student ID so he could get back into the dorm after his shift.

       Hunk twisted his lips at him, unconvinced at the unhelpful answer, "Because it's a family-owned store?"

       "And?"

       "And don't they only have family members work there, you know, since it's _family owned?"_  Hunk continued, rolling his eyes as Lance turned to give his squinted look with a raised brow.

       "They hired me."

       "You were the exception."

       "I'm sure they could make another one," Lance said with a dismissive wave, turning back to the mess he'd expanded and began looking for his shoes. "Besides," he called over his shoulder as he scoured through a hefty pile of underwear, "I'm pretty sure the owner was talking about actually hiring another person or two to help at the store, since business has apparently been booming for them lately, and their delivery guy dropped out." He finally dragged out the grey and black street shoes and slipped them on, tapping his toes against the floor behind him to fix the folds. He turned back to Hunk, who was still looking at him like he wanted to believe him but wasn't sure if he should. "Tell ya what, why don't you come with me to the shop, and you can just ask the owner if they need any extra help. I've got a shift to get to anyways so I'll go with you."

       Hunk thought for a moment before sighing at the look Lance was giving him, "Well, I don't think you're actually giving me a choice, even if I didn't want to." He heaved himself up, taking his sleeping laptop with him as he headed for the door. "Just let me slip some shoes and a jacket on first."

       "Kaaaay," Lance called cheerfully to Hunk's back as the other disappeared out the door, into his own room. Lance let his smile falter and fall, standing motionless in his room for a moment as the silence crept over him. He'd been trying to act normal, especially around Hunk, who knew Lance almost better than Lance knew himself. But what had happened yesterday was... well, it was a lot to take in.

       Meeting his soulmate, Keith, on Friday, then finding out yesterday that his shadow in the program he'd just joined was said soulmate. That said soulmate was apparently a natural ace at everything, had hot-shot clothes, and an eighties hairstyle that looked flawless on him. That he had an absolutely astounding, self-made motorcycle and was a bit of a romantic show-off when it came to driving it with a passenger. How transparent he was so that Lance knew which buttons to press to get a rise out of him, and which ones would give him an honest smile. How Keith had a way of pulling out more information that Lance wanted to share, even when he made it obvious he didn't want to talk about it. How easy yet conflicting it felt to talk about it anyways. The awkward silence on the drive back to the dorms before the storm and how they had barely managed to even say goodbye to each other at all.

       All of it was a lot to think about in the span of around two days. And Lance being Lance was taking it all and shoving it into a bottle with a tight, tight cork, and throwing it out into his sea of thoughts that was already filled with thousands of other bottles just like it.

       He hadn't realized he'd been spacing out, just standing there vacantly in his room, until Hunk appeared in the doorway again.

       "Alright, I'm ready to go!" Hunk said with a smile, which turned into concerned surprise when he saw Lance's face. "Lance, buddy, you good?"

       Lance started from his trance, blinking quickly and instinctively donning his usual smirk, "Yeah, yeah I'm good." He grabbed his jacket and trotted to the door, slipping past his best friend as he gave him a light punch to the shoulder. "Just spaced out for a minute. Let's go, my shift starts in like, ten minutes!"

        _"What!"_ Hunk squawked, quickly following Lance, who was speed walking to the door, "Lance! It's like, a twenty minute walk from campus!"

       "Who said anything about walking?" Lance called over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall as Hunk hastily closed the door and rushed to follow him. "We're sprinting, mi amigo! Nothing like an afternoon jog before work!" His laugh rang in the hall and Hunk already regretted his decision to follow Lance.

♡ ♡ ♡

       By the time Lance and Hunk reached the nursery, they were a few minutes late anyways. Hunk tucked over bent knees as he heaved for breath while Lance's chest swelled with the exertion. He'd never admit it, but he left late on purpose so he'd have an excuse to run. He'd always liked going running, especially during the winter and spring months when swim team was over and it was too cold to surf in the ocean. Lance stepped through the door, and Hunk weakly followed suit, forehead beaded with sweat and face screwed up in the earliest stages of nausea. Lance was a little wary, but the expression still made him chuckle, and Hunk sent him a weak glare.

       Balmera Nursery was a quaint little place, filled to the brim with any and every plant you could imagine. It was always a solid eighty degrees once you opened the door, a little humid, and the scent of pollen and fertilizer was heavy in the air. It was a sea of green waves with crests in a multitude of brilliant colors; reds, blues, purples, yellows, whites, and pinks. They wove themselves through decorated pots and metal cart shelves like organic spider webs, all over the place yet organized. It really was a pretty place to work, if Lance had to say.

       "Yoo, Abuelita! I'm here!" Lance called into the store, bending over to peer around a large cart of roses. "It's me, Lance. I'm here for my shift!"

       There's a bout of silence, and then a noise from the back, which Lance decides to investigate and waves Hunk along to follow him.  He's only rounded the corner when he sees the doorway to the backroom propped open, and the head of a girl peeking past the metal obstruction. She recognizes his voice and matches it to his form before she nods politely to him.

       He smiles sweetly and nods back, his voice soft as he asks "Hey Shay. Is your abuelita here?" Shay nods again, and Lance chuckles, "She must be busy then." Another nod, and by this time, Hunk has rounded the corner and come to stand next to Lance, raising a brow curiously at his friend before he spots the other girl. She ducks behind the door a bit at his entry, and Lance motions for her to come forward, "Nah, nah, Shay, s'fine. This is my best friend, Hunk. He won't bite, come say hi." The girl hesitated for a moment, before creeping out and taking a few hesitant steps in their direction, then closing the distance.

       When she was closer, Hunk could see her complexion was similar to Lance's in color, caramel and smooth. Her hair was the color of rich, dark chocolate. It was cropped short and neat, bangs curtaining her forehead and casting shadows over her thick eyebrows. She wore a soft, pink sweater that was knitted with a tasteful ribbon design, and low-cut, rounded neckline. It contrasted nicely with her skin and slim physique, hanging low over the washed out jeggings she wore. She was close to Lance's height, maybe an inch shorter.

       Before Hunk could see much more, she tripped over a garden hose, tan boots snagging on the thick rubber that lay coiled over the floor. She gave a little yelp at her blunder, and she would have fallen face-first onto the cement flooring if it weren't for a pair of large hands catching her gently. She blinked and instinctively grabbed the arms that caught her, which belonged to Hunk, whose fast reaction had saved her from what would have been a devastating fall. At this proximity, he could see that her face had a heavy coating of dark freckles, which streaked down the sides of her neck. Thin, hooped earrings hung from the lobes of her ears, the singular pieces of jewelry adorning her besides an array of bracelets on her right wrist, clumped and twisted together.

       "Don't worry, I've got you," he said, chuckling lightly at her bewilderment as he helped her stand and step over the hose. "Those things always trip me up too when I have to water the garden at home." As she looked up at Hunk, he could see that her eyes were a startling blue. No, they weren't blue. They were fogged and glassed over, vacant and near-unseeing. It caught Hunk a little off guard, but before anything, Shay quickly finished righting herself and covered her face as she flushed with embarrassment, her brain probably having caught up with the moment. She tucked a hair behind her ear, gave him a firm nod of thanks, and then backtracked to the door again, careful to avoid the hose this time now that she knew where it was.

       "Did..." Hunk started, a little confused. "Did I do something wrong?"

       Lance came up beside him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look when he turned his low-key hurt one to the brunet. "Nah, man. She was like that my first few months here, too. Shay is just really, really shy. She's, uh, she's blind, mostly, so her fam is kind of protective of her. She didn't get to do a whole lot of socializing outside family gatherings growing up." Lance gives a shrug and puts both hands into his front pants pockets, "Surprisingly though, she has the best English out of all of them, other than her brother."

       "Huh, alright, cool. 'Cause, you know, that reaction totally made me think I did something wrong," Hunk said, dropping the hands he still had hovering in the air from when he'd caught Shay. "I mean, she ran away so fast! You'd have thought I'd hit her or something." He frowned deeply at that, but Lance could tell he was still relieved he hadn't actually done anything wrong. But before Lance could tell anything else, a scratchy old voice came from the back room, hollering louder than cat giving birth.

       "Lance, pedazo de mierda! ¡Llegas tarde de nuevo!" The door Shay had disappeared behind pushes open again, and this small, old lady comes limping out, cane in hand and wrinkled face scowling, creating even more ravines between the expanses of skin. " ¿Cuántas veces tengo que decirte que no te voy a pagar por el tiempo que no estás aquí??

       "Abuelita, I was only late by a few minutes!" Lance tried to explain as she took a hefty swing at him, barely missing but somehow managing to avoid knocking over anything within the very tightly compact vicinity.

       "¿Sabe usted cuánto podría estar haciendo en esos pocos minutos?" The elder hissed, and this time her cane managed to scuff Lance's knee and he jumped back and hid behind Hunk. She scowled and threw the hand not holding her cane to her hip. "¡Podrías haber barrido la tienda, o regado las rosas, o incluso reponer los sacos de semillas!"

       Hunk had absolutely no idea what was going on, but the scene was oddly familiar to one time he and Lance had gotten back to Lance's house a few minutes after his curfew and Lance's mother had chased him around the house with a wet rag until he'd found sanctity behind him. He managed to remain composed enough that he could catch a few words, but the elder was speaking so fast that it was a little hard to differentiate the words. Especially since his Spanish was far from fluent, and he could barely hold simple conversations with Lance at the best of times.

       Lance pouted behind him, peeking out from behind his arm, "It's not my fault..." Then he wrapped an arm around Hunk's and pointed sharply to him, "I was trying to be _nice_ and bring you someone to take over for Rax for delivery and heavy-lifting! I know you need more help." He flinched when the old lady huffed, but she did not pursue him again. Hunk was grateful when she had switched over to English, even if her brutally heavy accent did still make it a little difficult to understand.

       "Did I say I need help?" Another harsh snort of air through her nose before she turned to Hunk. She gave him a once over, stepping a little closer as she inspected him, "Hm, big, tall, strong. Good thighs and strong back for lifting." She gave his legs a surprisingly light tap with her cane and then stepped back, squinting up at his face. "Hm, smile for me, boy. You look like you have nice smile."

At that, Hunk flushed a bit, one hand coming to rest behind his neck as his smile instinctively took over his face, broad and sweet, with just the right amount of teeth. The old lady smiled back at that, then turned back to Lance with a sharpened glare.

       "You brought good man. I forgive you this time. But if you are late again, I cut your pay!" She seemed satisfied with the indignant squawk that came from Lance before turning on her heel and limping for the door. "I get big boy application and then you will water all of sections B and C before I leave."

        _"What!?"_ Was all Lance managed to get out before the other was gone and the door shut loudly behind her. He groaned and reached up to rub both hands over his face. "Hunk, buddy, pal, friend, my partner in crime. I hope you appreciate the crap I go through for you," he mumbles out between his fingers, giving his friend a sideways glance that is half a glare and half tiredness.

       "Of course I do, man!" Hunk laughs a bit and gives Lance a friendly thump on the back, "And come on, it's just watering, right? You water the like, thirty plants in our dorm in like two minutes. You can do two sections."

       Lance just groans again and lets his hands slip from his face, "Okay, sure, I see your point, but consider this: both of those sections are full of plants that are covered in thorns, spines, and prickles. They're _so_ obnoxious to water."

       Hunk just shook his head and sighed, "Then I am sorry for your loss, my dude."

       "Thanks, Hunk. I knew you'd understand."

       They fell silent as the door opened again, and this time Shay stepped out with a set of papers in hand. She picked her way over carefully, presenting the small stack in her hands to Hunk, who took them gingerly.

       "Uhm," Hunk hummed, looking down at the papers and then back to Shay. "Thank you very much." Lance snorted a bit at his formality but Shay lit up a bit, giving a small smile as she nodded twice and then hurried back into the back room. Hunk smiled after her even after the door closed and Lance's eyebrow raised at him with a coy smile.

       "Welp!" He said, clapping his hands together loudly. The action startled Hunk out of his daze, and he turned to him in surprise. "I've got plants to water, and if I have to be done before the old hag leaves, I better get started." He turned Hunk around and started cajoling him towards the entrance again, "And you, my hunkalicious friend, have an application to fill out. And calculus homework to finish, if I'm not mistaken."

       Hunks eyes widened at that and he finally took a few steps on his own, "Oh my god, I totally forgot about that! Shoot, I'll see you when you get back then, yeah?"

       "Absodootly!" Lance chirped as they finally reached the door.

       Hunk hovered in the open doorway for a moment, "Around eight, right?"

       "Yep."

       "You want to get food at the dining hall, or?"

       "Nah man, I'll just grab Mickey D's or Arby's on the way back," Lance replied with a dismissive wave. "Do you want anything or are you gunna eat with Pidge?"

       "Probably with Pidge, then," Hunk said. "Since I haven't eaten with them in a while."

       Lance smiled, "Aiight, cool, cool. Now get out, you're gunna freeze my plants and then abuelita will actually beat me with her stick."

       Hunk just laughed, "Right, because you really don't have any more brain cells to lose!"

       Lance gaped at him, "Wow, alright, rude!"

       He pouted as Hunk waved, but his expression softened quickly and he waved back until Hunk was out of sight of the windows and down the road. Lance felt a clawing loneliness start to creep up on him, his fingers subconsciously finding their way to the surface of his brace under his sleeve. He let out a soundless sigh, even though there was no one near to hear it if he'd made it audible. Then he sucked in a sharp breath and pushed the feeling back into the depths where it came from.

       He had a job to do and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to prove he could water both of the sections he'd been assigned before that grouchy old lady left at five-thirty. He rolled his shoulders back and made his way to the supply cabinet for the watering buckets, hoping the roar of running water screaming against the inside of the metal tin would drown out the intrusive thoughts he was trying to keep at bay.

♡ ♡ ♡

       There was something about Mondays that always sucked. Something always happened to completely ruin the day, Lance knew that. He never expected much of Mondays, because he knew better. And as arrogant and cocky as Lance could be, he was usually right.

       Today was no different. The weather hadn't changed much over the weekend, which left Monday morning a soggy and chilly wonderland of grey overcast. Muddy leaves coated the ground, making the walkways as slippery as the yellowing grass of the pavilion. The two large bags hanging obnoxiously from Lance's hands, bunched plastic digging into the creases of his fingers, didn't really help as he grumbled under his breath the entire walk from the art store, which was several blocks down the road, to the college library. He could feel the moisture from outside clinging to what little skin he made available, making him feel moist and uncomfortable.

       The only thing that could possibly make things worse was if Keith got lost, and knowing Lance's luck with the guy, it was a very real and annoying possibility. Lance had sent him an copy of his schedule, along with the rooms and buildings the classes would be held in, but he'd never gotten a response. He'd sent the boy a text during dinner hour when he didn't find him in the dining hall Sunday night, telling him he didn't have to join Lance for his general education classes, but had to shadow him in his core classes. Again, no response. When he, Hunk, and a variety of Lance's numerous acquaintances, were leaving the cafeteria for their dorms and there was still no sign of the ravenet, Lance had sent Keith another text telling him to meet him in the Cyber Cafe the next day around one, so Lance could just pick him up and make sure he didn't get lost. He'd yet to get a response.

       It wasn't until he was left pacing around his dorm in his underwear, fingers tugging at the straps of his brace in frustration, did he send Keith a flurry of messages begging him to reply. To give him something, any kind of confirmation that he'd gotten any of his messages, that they had some form of communication line going.

       Lance didn't get a response until after he'd finally worked himself into exhaustion and collapsed onto his bed, much to Hunk's relief when the angry pacing stopped, passing out rather quickly. The brunet had woken to find a simple message stating 'k', and all of a sudden, the fires of his agitation were lit and roaring inside him again. He'd only ended up tripping over the mess on his floor, groaning in defeat from the carpet when he'd tried to pace again.

       But now here he was, having spent a _solid_ amount of money for at least a week's worth of art supplies for the guy who was supposed to be shadowing him. His soulmate that had unknowingly made the last eighteen years of his life an uncomfortable, personal hell. Keith fucking Kogane, everyone. His inconsiderate, lazy, emotionally-constipated, asshole of a shadow. At least, that's what Lance was muttering under his breath when he finally managed to make it into the library.

       He was surprised to find Keith was actually there, sitting at a desk in the Windows section and looking tiredly at the screen. As if he had all the time in the world and nothing to spend it on. The light reflected off his tied back hair, giving the onyx locks an almost blue sheen, and he was wearing an outfit practically identical to the one he'd worn on Saturday. Though his red biker jacket was replaced with a thick black and white hoodie with a very wide, red 'V' over the front. The taller boy strode over, bags still in hand and dumped them next to the slightly shorter boy, which seemed to startle him out of whatever he was reading. Lance could still see flecks of purple in the other's eyes when he looked up at him, glowing with the light of the screen.

       "You. Are the worst. Communicator. Ever. Kogane," Lance panted between breaths, shooting the other boy a glare that lacked any real bite to it when his face was flushed, covered with a light layer of condensation. Keith blinked at him, perplexed, and raised a brow in silent question. "Yeah, you! Mr. I'm-gunna-answer-my-firefly's-texts-but-only-after-he-begs-me-for-a-reply. And then- and _then!_ " Lance threw his hands to the ceiling, ignoring the several glares and annoyed huffs shot at him from other students, "All you sent me was 'k'. Just 'k'! Nothing else! No 'yeah, that's fine', or 'hey, thanks for trying to make this easier on me', or even 'wow Lance, you sure are being responsible unlike my dissociating ass! I'm so glad I have _you_ for a mentor!'" Lance threw his hands to his hips with an angry breath of air shot through his teeth, brow furrowed but chest still heaving as he caught his breath.

       "Um," Keith finally said a few seconds later, looking at Lance almost as if he were lost. "I didn't know I had to thank you for doing your job."

       Lance was _this close_ to losing his shit on the guy, but he could already see more than half the room giving him the stink eye for being loud in a quiet place, so instead he sucked in cool air between his teeth and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eye scrunching shut. He stayed like that for a moment, tapping out the beat to Mozart's Moonlight Sonata to steady himself, before the hand holding his face fanned out when he spoke again, quieter this time.

       "Fine. _Fine._ Just-" he gestured sharply to the bags he'd set down and Keith directed his eyes to them, staring blankly without comprehension of their purpose. "I have class in, like, half an hour on the other side of campus. And, as surprising as this may come to you, I like being on time for my classes! Heck, I like being early! So grab those bags and let's go, Kogane."

       "Alright, well, _McClain_ ," Keith said, standing up with more of a scowl on his face that matched the sharp tone Lance was using with him. "Apparently I missed the memo in your little tirade here, but exactly _why_ do _I_ have to be the one to carry these?" Surprisingly, even as he asked this, he stooped down and scooped up both bags without a hint of effort, even moving so that both of them were in the same hand. He slid his now-free hand into his front pocket, shifting his weight to one hip as he waited for an answer.

        _"Because,"_ Lance huffed back, fisting his hands at his sides as he looked away, his voice dropping a few volumes, "They're _for_ you."

       "What?" Keith's hard glare was dropped to confusion, now looking between the bags and Lance. "Why would you get me stuff?"

       Lance only groaned and threw up his hands again, "I don't have time for this. We don't have time for this!" He laid the back of one hand in the palm of the other and repeatedly clapped them together, accentuating each syllable he spoke, "I have class in half an hour! Let's go!" And with that, he turned on his heel and made for the exit, with Keith quickly logging out of the computer and striding to catch up with the lanky teen.

       Keith finally caught up with him just outside the library, mouth pulling into an annoyed frown, "Dude, what is your deal? Are you always this much of an asshole, or am I just special?"

       "Oh trust me, you're _special_ alright," Lance hissed back, but the tone seemed to have gone over Keith's head. The dark-haired boy's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and if Lance looked back, he would have sworn there was a layer of red coating his cheeks. Lance continued, however, unaware of the other's loss of composure, "But in actuality, I'm just doing my job as your Firefly. I'm required to set you up with supplies for my classes, and being an art kid, that means setting you up with the latest materials and medias."

       Keith seemed to have recovered quickly enough to ask, "So, wait, you bought me a week's worth of _art supplies?_ Just like that, because I'm shadowing you for a week?"

       Lance rolled his eyes, _"Yes,_ Keith. Do you even listen when I talk to you, or do my words get tangled in that mullet of yours before they even reach your ears?"

       "There is nothing wrong with my hair!" Keith sighs, exasperated.

       "If by 'nothing', you mean 'the biggest mistake of the nineteen-eighties' then no, you're still wrong." Lance shot back, though his voice was calmer now, his stride slowing so the other could keep up a little easier now that his irritation was starting to burn out.

       "Fuck you," the other huffs, and Lance makes the difficult choice not to respond, merely grunting his displeasure before silence falls between them. They're almost to the art building before Keith speaks up again, his voice carrying an underlying layer of hesitation and tentativeness. "So, um, I hope you know I've never... I've never really done art before. So I probably won't be that good."

       "Oh what, you mean to say your middle school angst years weren't full of emotional sharpie drawings with MCR quotes on them?" Lance replies without missing a beat, though his voice holds more of his usual teasing humor now, even if it is still lined with a little bit of annoyance.

       "That's just a stereotype," Keith shoots back.

       "Well you fit it to the nines, Keithers."

       "Gee, what gave me away?" Keith deadpans before huffing, "And don't call me that!"

       "The mullet and the 'grown up bad boy' look you're trying to pull off, _Keithers,"_ Lance says, shrugging as they reach the door and he whips out his student ID to open it. He motions for Keith to go in fist, so the dark-haired boy sucks in a sharp breath, readjusts his hold on the bags, and steps through with Lance sliding in behind him before the door closed. "Look, I'm just trying to do the job I signed up for, alright? Don't worry about it."

       Keith narrows his eyes at the taller boy's back but follows without further questions, both of them heading up the stairs to the next floor where the walls were lined with wide, grey lockers. Lance trotted down hall, eyes grazing the small white numbers on little black labels that marked each locker door. Keith followed more slowly, switching between glancing at the unfamiliar area around him and watching Lance curiously. He set the bags down when he finally reached the other, leaning them between he shoe and the bottom row of lockers as the brunet fiddled with the lock of what Keith could see as locker four-one-three. His lips twisted in a curious pout before the lock clicked and Lance swung the door open with a victorious shout. Keith had to stumble back a bit when the onslaught of supplies came pouring out, eyes wide and teeth bared in surprise. Lance chuckled a bit; he thought Keith looked like a startled cat with the way he recoiled.

       "Aww, what's wrong, Tweety bird," Lance mused as he started collecting the fallen materials and shoving the unnecessary ones back into their confines. "Did you see that big, bad, pootie tat, Sylvester?" He rolled his eyes when he was met with a blank stare, "Oh come on, even _you_ have to know about Looney Tunes."

       Keith's gaze narrowed in bewilderment, "Looney... what? No?"

       Lance groaned loudly and leaned into his locker, smacking his head against the corner of the entrance, "Of all the people to be paired up with, I get the one with no childhood."

       "I had a childhood!"

       "Not a very good one, apparently," Lance muttered before turning back to his locker, "Anyways, you can shove those two bags in here for now. I have Design One and Music Theory before Drawing, so all you really need is a notebook and pen for those." Keith gives him a blank look after handing over the two bags when Lance motions for them. Lance quirks a brow, "What, did you seriously not even bring a notebook?"

       "Does it look like I'm carrying a bag on me, Lance?" Keith rolls his eyes, "Of course, I don't have a notebook on me."

       "Christ man, I thought you were some genius ace from the way Pidge described you, how could you not even have a notebook on you?" Lance turned up his nose with a smirk but was a little caught off guard by the way Keith's eyes darkened and his gaze turned downcast, arms crossing over his chest.

       "I'm not much more intelligent than anyone else, really."

       "Yeah, I know," Lance says with a snarky laugh that was maybe a little more forced than necessary, and it almost makes him sound metallic, "You're a total airhead, from what I've seen."

       "At least I'm not a snobby frat boy," Keith snarks back, raising his head with a click of his tongue.

       "Hey man, what can I say," Lance says as he pulls out an extra notebook and closes the locker, giving the door a pull to make sure it's closed and locked again. "Chicks dig the guys who know what they're about." He hands Keith the notebook before he can reply and sliding past him, "C'mon, Fall Out Boy. Design's this way." Keith grumbled something unintelligible under his breath that Lance chose to ignore, readjusting the strap of his leather messenger bag as they walked down the hall. It was just a feeling, but he had a feeling that this Monday in particular was going to be a very, very long day.

♡ ♡ ♡

       Lance was able to coast through Design One and Music History with relative ease, having spoken with both professors over email about the shadowing program beforehand. He was surprised to find a few of the other students in his class were also Fireflies, seeing a few out-of-place students that hadn't been in previous classes sticking close to their mentors. Keith had done the same, obviously uncomfortable with the new surroundings from the way his shoulders hunched and his arms crossed tightly over himself when he wasn't taking notes. But Lance could see he was interested, taking in the unique information the lessons were giving out, though he would have sworn to the hills and back that Keith was far more interested in the Design class than Music Theory. They'd hardly argued, exchanged nothing more than a bit of banter during Design about something the teacher was showing them, and whether Mozart's Moonlight Sonata was better than his Sonata for two pianos in D major, K. 433 during Music Theory that had started a wild class-wide debate. Somehow, despite the heated discussion, they end up on decent terms as they walk out of the class.

       "Dude, you hungry?" Lance asks, turning to look at Keith over his shoulder at the slightly shorter boy picks up his notebook and scurried to catch up, "Next class isn't until five half. We could grab some dinner real quick."

       "Sure, but did you really just say 'five half'?" Keith mused, a slight smirk on his lips as he easily fell in beside the other.

       Lance quirked a brow at him, "Uh, yeah? Means five-thirty, dude."

       "Then why didn't you just say five-thirty?"

       Lance dramatically threw his hands in the air, "Because I'm lazy! Why does it matter?"

       Keith only rolled his eyes, "Well, I'm pretty sure this isn't England."

       "Well, you're certainly _acting_ like his majesty, aren't you?" Lance huffed, and he readjusted the strap of his bag as they headed for the door that would lead them outside.

       "I'm just saying that we live in the quote-unquote 'colonies' and saying 'five-half' is barely different from saying 'five-thirty' so what's the difference?"

       "Are you always this argumentative over dumb things that don't matter or am I just special?" Lance hums, tossing him a teasing grin.

       Keith rolls his eyes, "Trust me, you're special, alright."

       Lance knows it's just a tease, but something in his stomach flutters anyways, like he'd just swallowed a handful of butterflies. He turns his head and picks up the pace just a bit, "Well, who cares, anyways. You knew what I meant. Besides!" Lance turned and threw a hand to the air, fingers of the other grazing his clavicle as he started humorously singing, _"Look around, look around, at how lucky we are, to be alive right now!"_

       "We're not in Manhattan," Keith says, rolling his eyes as his lips pull up playfully. "And we're not making history. We're just going to dinner." However, Keith almost runs into Lance when he stops dead, and stumbles back a bit. He looked up with a glare to snap something, but it's dropped when he sees the appalled and absolutely _shining_ look on Lance's face, aimed directly at him. Lance is glowing as his face pulls into the biggest grin Keith has ever seen, on Lance or otherwise.

       "You know _Hamilton?"_ Lance asks, but it's almost more of an excited squeal, and that is a sound that Keith has never expected to hear from an adult male in his lifetime.

       "I, uh, yes?" He stutters, still taken aback by the other's skyrocketed attitude. His guard is immediately up, and he takes an extra step back as he crosses his arms. "It's _Hamilton._ It's historical and the musical is actually pretty accurate."

       "Holy shit, I _know!"_ Lance says, and while the sky is starting to darken from the early onset of night, he feels like Keith just lit up his whole world. "But none of my friends know about it and the only kids who do are the theater kids, who are _wayyyy_ too enthusiastic about it."

       Keith raises a brow at him, looking both unimpressed and impressed at the same time, "You're pretty enthusiastic about it too, if we're pointing fingers."

       Lance took no offense to the mild jab, only stepping forward with that practically luminous grin and grabbing Keith by the shoulders, "Dude, no, Keith, Keithers, my main man, red biker of my life, _you don't understand!"_ He threw his hands in the air, spinning a bit in his excitement, "I have _never_ met someone into _Hamilton_ besides me! Oh, the wasted references and pun opportunities!" Lance covers his face dramatically with his hands and groans with melodrama.

       Keith laughs a bit and notices that the hall is cleared now, vacant except for himself and Lance's whining self. He takes a sharp inhale, because he was about to do something that he's never really done before. But for some reason, with Lance standing there pining over his terrible luck in _Hamilton_ jokes, still smiling like he was just an obsessed teenager and not an asshole frat boy, Keith feels a little braver.        

       "Well maybe that's because _you strike_ _me,"_ Keith starts, dropping his voice into a melody which he's a little embarrassed to admit that he's all too familiar with, _"as a man who's never been satisfied."_

       Lance whipped around, eyes wide and mouth dropping to a small 'o' as he heard Keith fall into song. The sound made him shiver, the almost breathiness to his voice pulling at the brunet's heartstrings. He pulled his lips into a smaller, knowing smile. _"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, you forget yourself."_

       Keith's eyes widen at the more melodious sound ringing from Lance's lips, no longer forcefully off-key. It was something warm and comforting, like being welcomed home after a very long trip. He uncrossed his arms and closed the distance between them, giving Lance's arm a gentle shove as he continued for the door, _"You're like me. I'm never satisfied."_

       Lance feels a swell in his chest with the spontaneous duet, and something in him clicks, sending a warm shiver over him as he moves to walk beside the other, _"Is that right?"_

       Keith gives him a sideways smile, both a little sad and a little happy, a light flush of red over his cheeks from the interaction. But he turns away from Lance's smile, lets his own drop a little as his line comes out more sad than the original, _"I have never been satisfied."_

       Confusion and a little bit of disappointment crosses Lance's face, but he moves to keep up with the other, keeping the smile on his own face. _"My name is Angelica Schuyler."_

 _"Alexander Hamilton,"_ Keith replies after a breath, turning back to Lance as they traveled down the sidewalk towards the pavilion.

        _"Where's your family from?"_ Lance hums, sticking his hands into his front pockets as they walk.

       "Unimportant," Keith says, accidentally dropping the song from his voice.

       Lance looks at him with a sympathetic smile, knowing the other didn't really have any beside Shiro. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

       He's cut off as Keith jumps back into the song, righting his posture as he shoved his hands into his hoodie's pocket, and looking up at the darkening sky. There are still threads of blue mixed in with the varying shades of red, a soothing purple flowing wherever the two colors touched. _"There's a million things I haven't done, but just you wait."_

       Lance watches him for a moment, and decides to let him trail off and bring the silence back between them. But it's comfortable. It's light. There's no awkwardness between them, and it was peaceful.

       And then he's washed in a stream of emotions, seemingly out of nowhere and all too real. There's a heavy loneliness that drags at his shoulders, presses on his diaphragm until it feels like he can't expand it any more. There's jealousy, the bittersweet kind that taints the back of your tongue, where you know you have the right to feel it but know you have to keep it from sinking its claws in between your muscles. Guilt that threatens to rip you apart when all you can do is stand there and pretend like nothing's wrong, like you didn't just ruin the life of somebody else with a single phrase. And longing, no, _yearning_ is a better word for it, so heavy and deep and close to home that Lance wants to keel over when it hits him and cry. But he doesn't. He doesn't do anything. He can only focus on tingle of his left wrist under his brace, and the way Keith's eyes stay fixed on the sky, sad and tired.

       And finally, at the end of the emotional parade, there's a very soft, unspoken feeling of apology.

       Keith looks entirely too young all of a sudden. A young boy forced to grow up far too quickly, to know everything an adult would know, how to act like an adult, how to take care of himself without one. He looks lost and entirely too alone, and it makes Lance so profoundly sad and irrationally protective that he finds himself taking a step closer to Keith, then another, and another, until they're right next to each other, shoulder to shoulder.

       Keith looks over at him, he looks back and smiles, _"Just you wait."_

♡ ♡ ♡

       By the time they finish dinner and retrieve the appropriate supplies from Lance's locker, they're almost late to Lance's Drawing class. They slide in two minutes before class starts and Lance tells Keith to wait by the side as he sets up two drawing stations. There's a still life set up on a couple tables in the middle of the room; it's covered in a variety of containers, objects, reflections, and billowing fabrics. Not a single desk stands on the floor and Keith looks largely confused when Lance returns to him.

       "What, never been in a drawing studio before?" The brunet teases and Keith sends him a half-hearted glare.

       "I told you, I've never done art stuff before," he waves a disinterested hand to the area around them where other students are finishing setting up or standing at their posts, easels set up and materials ready. The teacher appears to be absent still, but some students have gotten to work, not bothering to wait. "All of this is totally new to me."

       "Well, let's start giving you experience, man!" Lance says and ushers him to the easel he'd set up. There's already a board sitting there diligently, and Lance moves to the station next to him. The area is surprisingly comfortable, with not too many students clumped together and the room being rather spacious to begin with, so Keith steps into his new space easily.

       "So exactly how long is this class?" Keith asks as he examines his unfamiliar workstation, looking between it, the still life, and Lance.

       Lance gives him an unimpressed look, "Two and a half hours. It says it on the schedule I sent you."

       "Oh," is all he gets in reply.

       "You didn't even read it, did you?" The brunet sighs in exasperation.

       Keith's shoulders pinch up defensively, "Hey, I was busy! I didn't have time to study your dumb schedule. I'm only gunna be following it for a week anyways."

       Lance rolled his eyes, "Well, whatever. Woulda been a good thing to know for later."

       Before Keith can question him on what he means by 'later', the slightly taller boy turns around and starts digging through the bag of materials they'd brought with them, pulling out what they'll need and handing them off to Keith without looking. "Here, these are what we're using for this assignment," Lance gestures to the materials they're working with - charcoal and graphite - and gives Keith the option of using either. He finds it a little humorous at how befuddled the dark-haired boy looks, curious at the tools in his hands that Lance himself is so familiar with. He gives a simple explanation of the process, saying to use the pencil to draw general shapes of the still life to work with and then using charcoal for shading and refinements. Keith seems to understand pretty quickly, so Lance moves to his own station and they get to work.

       The professor comes in ten minutes late - a rather tall British man with wisps of white-blond hair and a haughty, sarcastic attitude - but by that point, everyone is sucked into their work, headphones blocking out all outside noises and harnessing focus throughout the room. Lance is doing the same, though he leaves one earbud out. In case the teacher needs to talk to him or critique his process, he tells himself. Definitely not in case Keith is struggling and needs his help. Especially since, from where he's standing and how his easel and board are positioned, Keith is all but completely blocked from his vision. He's standing tall in front of his piece, stanced in such a way that he and his board are sideways to the still life, allowing him to only have to move his head to see it. He gets zoned into what he's doing, and soon, Keith is barely a whisper at the back of his mind as he focuses on recreating a fraction of the messy collection in the center of the room.

       It only takes about forty-five minutes for  his teacher to get over to him, the first hour of his class nearly over. He observes from behind at a distance, watching the way Lance measures bits and pieces and marks them down on his paper, using a small, pcoekt-sized ruler to make quick lines and smudges of charcoal for gradient and contrast of shape and shadow.

       "Lance," he finally says in a thick accent, stepping closer, and the brunet immediately takes out his other earbud. He knew the professor hated when his students had their headphones in when he was speaking to them. "You're rushing again. Try to get all of the proportions and depth right before you start adding in depth and detail with charcoal. Though I must say, you have come a decent ways from when class first started. This looks much better," The elder gave him a small smile that activated the crow's feet around his eyes and Lance returned it.

       "Thanks, Professor Little," he says before the other leans in a bit.

       "Now, Lance," he said, lowering his voice just a bit. "Where is this - what did you call it? A shadow?"

       Lance nods and motions to Keith who's standing behind his board, "Over there. They gave me a guy with absolutely no art experience - can you believe that?"

       Professor Little raises a brow and straightens up, his rather tall height allowing him to see over the top of the easel, and his brows raise up. "Indeed? From what I can see, I'd almost want to disagree with you."

       Lance gives him a questioning look before he leans to the side to peek around his easel, and his mouth drops open in surprise.

       Keith is working steadily on the paper, any hesitation or uncertainty when he'd first start completely gone, as he gracefully moved the small rod of charcoal between his fingers over the paper. The pencil work was loose and flowed like gentle rivers over the toned surface, vague shapes defined by beautiful, sharp shadows and smooth gradients of the charcoal. It almost looked like wherever Keith's hand moved, he was pulling a monochrome photograph right out of the paper. It was too real, the definition comparable as 1080p to the quality of Lance's own drawing, which was maybe a strong 480p. Lance felt his heart drop despairingly, the saliva on his tongue curdling and putting a bitter taste in his mouth. He muttered something under his breath along the lines of "Stupid ace student. Good at freaking _everything_ now _isn't_ he? 'Never done art before' my ass" and went back to working on his own piece, not caring if his teacher scolded him for shoving both his headphones back in.

       His professor called for a break half an hour later, and Lance would have ignored him and kept working if one of his classmates hadn't wandered over to him. He was a little shorter than Lance, probably even an inch shorter than Keith. Bleached white waves of hair sat atop his head, sides and back shaved close to the scalp. His brown eyes were so light they seemed gold, and seemed to sparkle as he quirked a dark brow at the brunet, eyebrow piercing glinting with the movement. His labret twitching equally so as his lips stretched into a playful smirk, and he gave Lance a friendly pat on the back.

       "Yo, Lance! Looking good today, as usual!" He chirped, though his pleasant look seemed to drop to surprise when the other merely huffed and waved his hand off. "Dude, what's with you? No comment about how you're face belongs in a museum, or your work is beautiful but not as beautiful as you?"

       "Not today, Eric" Lance grumbled sourly, glancing at the other before moving to refine some more details on urn sitting half-done on his paper. "Not since the guy shadowing me is apparently better at me in my own field, and he's not even declared."

       That got the light-haired boy's attention, "What, seriously? Someone who's better than Lancenardo Da Vinci? I sincerely doubt that."

       Lance huffed and jerked his chin to Keith, who was now trying to wipe the charcoal on his hands off on his black pants, mumbling, "Tell that to Keith van Gogh over there." Eric leaned back to look around Lance's board and his eyes widened at the other's piece.

       "Shit," was all he said, adding after a moment, "You weren't kidding." Lance merely grunted before Keith made his way over, peeking around the easel at Lance.

       "Sooo, now what do we do?" He asked the brunet, who tried to erase the bitterness from his voice and face when he looked up.

       "We're on break," he replied plainly, and he hoped Keith couldn't see the irritated quirk to the corner of his lips. "You can go walk the halls and stretch, you can socialize, blah blah blah things like that." Lance stepped back and pulled a small towel out of his back pocket that he used for wiping the messier drawing materials off his hands. Then he pulled out his phone to check the time and his messages, talking as he did so. "It's not required, so you can keep working if you want. Oh, this is my friend Eric, by the way." Keith turned to give the other boy standing next to Lance a once-over, and Lance could see his chest swell a little bit, probably when Keith realized he was a little bit taller than him.

       Eric stuck out a hand, roughly shoving it between Lance and his work purposefully. "Yo, as this guy said, the name's Eric. I don't think I've seen you in class before; you new?"

       "You could say that?" Keith said when he released the other's hand and let his drop to his side. He jerked his chin at Lance as he continued. "I'm actually just following this guy for a week for some shadowing program because I'm undeclared."

       Eric smirked, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his ripped, red jeans, "Sounds like a fun week if you got Lancelot over here."

       "More like I'm conversing with the living embodiment of Katie Perry's song 'Hot and Cold'," Keith deadpanned.

       Lance turned to him in disbelief, face quickly scrunching up into a scowl as he waved the pencil he'd picked up at the taller of the two shorter guys, "Oh, _you're_ one to talk! You're practically a walking Panic! At The Disco song yourself."

       "Hey man, ain't nothin' wrong with Panic," Eric hummed, causing Lance to turn on him.

       "Oh and I suppose you're going to tell me there's nothing wrong with mullets, either?"

       Keith threw his hands to his hips, whatever scowl he was trying to form disrupted by the pout of his lips, "There's nothing wrong with my hair!"

       Lance rolled his eyes and spun his pencil idly in his finger, "Keith, _please,_ you have the literal definition of a porno cop's hair-cut!"

       "It just grows like that!" Keith groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his noise as Eric snickered from the sidelines.

       "Holy shit, you guys are like, practically married with the way you squabble."

       "Stuff it," Lance hisses, but there isn't any bite to it, as usual.

       Keith crosses his arms defensively, mumbling out something along the lines of, "I don't squabble."

       Eric just laughs and turns to Keith, "But yo, dude, your piece is wicked!" He nodded to the masterful, half-done piece sitting on Keith's board a few feet away, "How long have you been doing art?"

       "Um, I've never really done art before." Keith shrugs and reaches up to run a hand through his bangs. Lance silently relishes in the face he smears charcoal over his nose and forehead as he does so, and elects not to tell him if only for the sake of his personal, petty bitterness. "This is kind of new to me and I know it sucks, so you don't have to play it up so I don't feel bad." He gives a little laugh at the end, awkward and forced, and both Lance and Eric look at him in utter shock.

       "What? No. No no no. _Dude,"_ Lance starts, throwing a hand to his hip as the other waved animatedly through the air. Any chips on his shoulder were brushed off for a few moments as his defensive nature flared up. "Don't even start with that crap. I really don't want to say it, but what you made, unfinished as it may be, is _gorgeous."_ He points accusingly at Keith and gives the other's shocked look a narrow gaze. "Don't even belittle yourself, because what you made is-" he has to force the next words out, trying not to choke on them and his pride at the same time "- _way_ better than what I, or anyone else in this room have. And if this is your first time drawing? Ha! I can't wait to see what you can do after a full course."

       Keith is looking at him like he has three heads, but it only takes a moment for him to overcome the look, and suddenly he's puffing up with pride and giving Lance the most honest, thankful smile. His cheeks are flushed but he looks so proud of himself, and Lance feels like his legs are going to give under him with that look directed point-blank at him in such close proximity. He moves to pull up a stool and sit down, trying not to think about the double dimples that appeared in the other's face when he smiled like that, or the way his eyes sparkled with the praise that Lance had so honestly given. Even Eric is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a pleasant gleam to his eyes.

       Lance couldn't have been more thankful when his teacher called them back to order and Keith and Eric both filtered away. Eric threw a knowing look over his shoulder, only scurrying away when Lance shot him a glare, but the other's look persisted even on the other side of the classroom. It was an annoying itch that couldn't be scratched even by blasting Beyoncé from his headphones.

♡ ♡ ♡

       If Lance thought Monday was bad, he hadn't prepared himself for the Tuesday weather forecast.

       The sky had been a light overcast when he and Keith had slipped into the music wing of the classroom building, and headed for Lance's Music History class. They'd ended up starting another class-wide debate, this time on the historical accuracy of Hamilton. Lance started a discussion about the musical with the teacher and a couple of other students, until one guy in the back, an asshole prep named Julius who often tried to start a fight with Lance every chance he got, claimed the musical was historically inaccurate. Surprisingly enough, both Lance and Keith had spit venom at the guy, joining forces over a common foe and eventually calling half the class to the cause, while the other half sided with Julius. Needless to say, the argument got so out of hand that the teacher let class go early, and shoved everyone out of the room to debate amongst themselves in the hall. Julius and his surrounding clique had slipped away like snakes, leaving no trail to follow, which left Lance and Keith steaming as they made their way outside.

       Now the sky was a dark and ominous ocean of clouds, full of grey currents and rolling black waves, showing that rain was imminent. And Lance glances up at it with a slightly worried look. He hadn't brought an umbrella with him, forgetting it by the door of his dorm in his haste to make it to his hellish, eight a.m. Algebra class. They're halfway across campus when he picks up his pace, and Keith lengthens his stride to keep up, while Lance is still grumbling under his breath about the class's events.

       "I mean, who the fuck does he even think he is? Saying Hamilton's part in the war was inaccurate. Stupid little prat," Lance is growling and Keith scoffs a bit. The brunet gestures sharply at nothing and turns to him, "I'm serious! He thinks he knows everything just because he gets better grades than me _sometimes."_ Lance rolls his eyes and continues waving his hands around animatedly, as Keith slides his own into his pockets after offering a shrug.

       "Everyone has different opinions, but that doesn't mean they're wrong," he hums, before his face drops into one that's full of almost deadly seriousness. "Except his. His opinion is very wrong." Lance snorts and Keith offers him surprised look, which quickly drops into a smirk.

       Which drops into confusion when something hits his nose.

       He wrinkles it instinctively, reaching up to touch the freckled skin there and finding his fingers come back wet. He stops walking and blinks at the liquid, turning shadowed eyes the the growing mass in the sky, where another drop of rain hits his cheek. Lance stops when he notices Keith has stopped following, raising his low grumble to a louder whine as he half turns back to the dark-haired boy.

       "Hey, Hamilton, let's go before it starts raining on us!" He calls out.

       Keith merely looks back to him, blinking once before he calls back, "Too late."

       Before Lance can even open his mouth to reply, something small hits him on the brow, just above his eye. He flinches, eyelid closing as he reaches up and wipes the drop of water from his skin. "Shit-" is all he gets out before the raindrops begin multiplying at breakneck pace, and soon it's an all-out downpour. Lance tugs in his bag and tries to cover it with his jacket, sprinting towards the nearest building with Keith close on his heels, pulling his own up futilely in an attempt to cover his head. They slip inside the doors as Lance fumbles to unlock them with his ID, and they groan once inside the shelter of the building. Even past two sets of doors, the sound of the rain coming down is thunderous, echoing through the lobby room.

       "Augh, you gotta be kidding me!" Keith groans loudly as he leans forward, absolutely soaked and obviously irritated from the way his nostrils flare and brow digs canyons over his eyes. He crosses his arms, taking up his usual stance, though it's more tightly hunched as he already starts to shiver. "How the hell does it start to rain that quickly?"

       "Welcome to the northeast," Lance replies dryly, but it's about the only dry thing about him. His hair is flat with water and plastered to his head, his clothes cold and heavy, the fabric sagging on his lean figure as he copies Keith's posture. A drop of water dripping off his hair and sliding down the back of his neck gets him to shiver, and he wonders why he's still feeling cold air wash over him until he realizes it's the building's air conditioner. And the only building that has the air conditioner on at this time of the year is the dormitory. He hadn't been paying much attention to the building they'd run into, but he feels a wave of relief now that he knows he can at least get out of his wet attire without having to worsen the damage. He already knows his scarf is going to need some serious TLC before it can be deemed wearable again. He turns to look at Keith, and notices the other is still shivering, grumbling obscenities under his breath about the cold and the rain and Lance's stupid carefree attitude.

       "Hey, let's go back to my dorm and grab an umbrella before we head back out," Lance says, giving himself a hard hug before straightening up and unfolding his arms.

       Keith stops his grumbling long enough to scowl at him, "I am _not_ going back out there just to get an umbrella."

       Lance rolls his eyes, "Well then lucky for you, we ran into the dormitory, where my _room_ is. Which is, you know, where I keep my dry clothes and umbrella."

       "Okay, then go get the umbrella and I'll wait here," the dark-haired boy huffs, and Lance would have thought he was actually angry if he didn't looks like a wet kitten, all soaked and huddled in on himself as he is.

       "Keith, I'm not leaving you in the middle of the unnecessarily air-conditioned lobby. You're gunna get sick."

       Now it was Keith's turn to roll his eyes, "Oh, right, and you actually care about that, because?"

       "Because you're my Shadow, and as your Firefly, it's my job to make sure you are safe and happy at all times," Lance shoots back, and Keith looks a little surprised he got a legitimate answer before the other turns on his heel. "C'mon scaredy cat, let's get you out of those sopping wet clothes before you cause an earthquake with all that shivering."

       "I'm not going to your dorm!" Keith practically squawks, looking horrified.

       Lance gives a teasing look over his shoulder, "Aww, is the poor, little Keithy-cat afraid to go into another boy's dorm room?" He puts a hand to his mouth as it curls into a coy smile, "How lame."

       Keith seems to puff up, face darkening a bit in color as he angrily stomps after the other with a hissed, "I'm not scared! It's just indecent."

       "Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, Keithers."

       "Stop calling me that!"

       Lance just gives a loud laugh that rings through the room before he slips into the stairway, avoiding the group of other students gathered outside the elevator. Keith follows, silently scowling at the faded stone steps until they get to the third floor, where Lance's room is located. By the time they get there, even Lance is shivering and Keith looks like he soaked his lips in grape juice from how blue they were, violently shivering behind Lance's slightly trembling form as the taller male swiped his card over the scanner. They're blasted with heat when the door opens, and Lance praises to whatever omnipotent being reigns over their species that Hunk remembered to turn the heat up when he left. He quickly ushers the shaking ravenet into the room and closes the door to preserve the temperature.

       "Jeez, you really can't stand the cold, can you?" Lance says when he turns around to find Keith still shivering, looking painfully awkward in the middle of his dorm's small living room. He gives Keith a smirk when he scowls at him. "Let me see if I can find something to fix that."

       "I d-don't need anything from y-you, I'm f-fine," Keith stammers, his shivering causing his voice to falter and Lance scoffs as he paws the air with a teasing smirk.

       "Oh ho ho? Is that right?" He chuckles, and loves when Keith's face starts to flush a bit. "Well, I'm sure the big bad pootie tat doesn't care if he gets sick from being all wet, then."

       "Christ, has anyone ever t-told you you're r-really annoying with your st-stupid pet names?" Keith hisses out, turning to glower at the floor.

       Lance gives out a sharp, chipper set of laughs as he turns and heads for his dorm room, "Oh man, you have _no_ idea!" He half turns back to point sharply at him with a wink, "Now you sit tight kitten, I'll be right back." And then he's slipped into his own room and closes the door.

       He exhales a slow breath and stands there for a minute, one hand coming to rest loosely over his sternum. He can feel his heart beating wildly beneath it, and grimaces to himself. He hates how being near his soulmate has this kind of effect on him, unrequited though it was. He hates how the person who was the cause of all of his internal insecurities and inhibitions could still make him feel so alive, just with a simple exchange of words. A little banter, an insult growled just a little too low, and Lance wanted to melt to the ground around Keith's flashy, steel-toed boots. He mumbles a breathless curse, and forces himself forward, wading through the scattered heaps of clothing as he looks for something dry and somewhat-clean to wear. He finds a wrinkled baseball shirt and grabs his dark grey hoodie that still smells like fabric softener to cover it. He strips and throws them on before peering around for something for Keith. The guy is probably a little broader than him, so if he could find something a little baggier, he'd be set.

        He's digging around for what feels like ten minutes, but has maybe only been two, when he finally pulls out a persian blue sweater with a casual design embroidering the hem, white stripes graphing its length. He gives it a sniff, finds it smells neutral, and throws it over his arm as he continues looking for a shirt. The same pile holds a plain black t-shirt that smells more like his bath soap, so he tosses it over the sweater and ambles back into the living room. Keith is standing a little further from where he left him, closer to the heater, and peering curiously at the various halloween decorations that litter the room. He's still shivering, but it's a little more discreet now. He turns when he hears Lance come back, blinking at the clothes hanging over the brunet's arm before his brow furrows.

       "I told you I don't need anything," the ravenet says with an annoyed tinge to his voice. And if he wasn't slightly slurring, no doubt from the lack of body temperature, Lance would have taken him seriously. He instead tries not to furrow his own brow as worry blossoms in his chest, knowing the other's faulty speech and slowed shivering despite being cold are anything but good signs. He keeps his smirk pinned to his face, and he slips into what he and Hunk love to call the Resting Dreamwork's Face.

       "Sure Keith, but why don't you try dropping the tough guy act for a few seconds of your angsty teen life, and put these on before you get hypothermia." He doesn't wait for an answer, merely tossing the bundle to the dark-haired boy, who grumbles something unintelligible as he catches it with ease. Turning on his heel, the brunet makes for the small kitchen and waves for Keith to change. "There's a bathroom just down the hall if you don't want to change right there. Hang the wet ones over the door to dry." He pulls open a cabinet and takes a bluish-grey coffee mug with the words 'It's a little Muggy today' on it in a flow-y font. He turns to glance over his shoulder, "Also do you like tea?"

       Keith doesn't hesitate when the invitation is given, merely placing the dry clothes on the arm of the couch and begins shedding his soggy jacket, giving Lance a questioning look. "I do, but why do you need to know?"

       Lance rolls his eyes as he turns back around and reaches for another mug, "Because I'm going to make us some, _duh."_

       "Okay, but _why?"_ Keith drops the jacket to the floor temporarily before expertly pulling his shirt over his head, the edges fluffing his wet hair and sending water droplets arcing through the air. "Weren't we just gunna get the umbrella and leave?"

       "Yes." Lance rolls his eyes, _"But!_ Since Montgomery let us out early-"

       "You mean kicked everyone out because of the argument _you_ started with that other fuckboi."

       Lance shoots him a scowl, which Keith pointedly ignores. "...Well! We've got an extra thirty minutes to kill. Might as well stay out of the rain as long as possible, right?" He moves to the sink, taking the two mugs along with him, and flips on the switch for the water. The cascading liquid rushes to the metallic bottom, roaring at the disruption of its sleep before it's captured in a coffee mug, its cry quieting but slowly rising in octave.

       "I'd say yes, but I know you just want to procrastinate going back outside," Keith comments dryly as he picks out the shirt, pulling it right-side-out before tugging it on. It was soft and flexible, and fit him surprisingly well without clinging to his damp skin like a wet paper-towel. He picks up the sweater and gives it a once-over, trying to find the right sleeve as it hangs in the air by his hand. "Which is understandable, since you're an art student."

       "Ex _cuse_ you, princess! That is just a stereotype!" Lance looks over at him, disgusted as he switches the full mug with the empty one, beginning the fill process over again. "Not all art students procrastinate."

       "So you've never procrastinated?" Keith says, finally finding the right hole and sticking his arm through it. He wasn't all that surprised with how soft the fabric was against his skin, but it still felt pretty nice as he slipped his arm through the other sleeve. It's fuzzy and gentle, and the sleeves hang over his hands as he reaches up to place a knuckle against his smirking lips.

       The blue of the sweater compliments his pale skin, making it look almost porcelain. It even seems to increase the contrast between his freckles and his cheeks, so that Lance can see them even on the other side of the room. Keith's dark hair is still wet, creating little rivulets down his cheek and neck before sinking into the dry, knit material. The light of the room shadows his eyes, but even so, Lance can make out those deep, sharp flecks of purple in Keith's irises, echoing through the room as he watches Lance. His look is piercing, even as his eyes rest in that relaxed look under a questioning brow, glowing above the slight smirk he's wearing. Lance wants to scream at the contraction around his chest cavity, and shred away the tingle in his left wrist when he meets those eyes.

       Lance gives a pout and turns the water off, dramatically turning his head and strutting the five feet to the microwave, "Nope!"

       "I find that hard to believe," Keith says with a soft laugh.

       "Yeah, well," Lance sticks his nose in the air and he puts both cups in the microwave at once, setting the time for a minute and a half. "Not all of us can be perfect, Mr. Ace Student. Some of us have to work for kickass grades!" He turns and sticks his tongue out at Keith playfully, dropping to a teasing smile to keep his tone lighthearted.

       Keith pauses for a breath before shaking his head, "Whatever you say, Lance."

       "Damn right," Lance huffs and moves over to another cabinet. "So what's your cup of tea, amigo? Also, you can sit on the couch, if you want. It's not gunna swallow you whole or anything."

       He can practically hear Keith roll his eyes before there's a shifting behind him, followed by a soft plop of butt on cushion. "Anything is fine."

       Lance shifts his weight to heavily settle in one hip, digging out the mass of boxes of teabags and starts going through them, "Well, we've got black teas, green teas, herbals, dessert teas, fruity ones; you really have your pick of the litter here."

       "If I say surprise me, do you promise not to poison me?" Keith asks and Lance turns just enough to see him sitting very close to the arm of the couch, as if trying to tuck himself as far into the corner of it as possible. His arms are crossed over his chest, as per usual, and his legs are tucked against the foot of the couch, knees pinched together. He looks way too uncomfortable as his gaze continues wandering over the room.

       "I won't poison you if you tell me what you're so interested in," Lance replies, blinking once before turning back to the boxes. He remembers Keith wrinkling his nose at him at dinner the other night when he'd tried to offer him a bite of a cookie he'd bought, the dark-haired boy saying he wasn't one for sweets. Then his mind drifts further, to Saturday at the cafe. Green tea with a spoonful of honey. Did they even have any green tea left? A quick search and Lance discovers that they have exactly three green tea bags left. _But,_ he thinks to himself, _he should really branch out and try new things._  Lance smirks, _And he did say to surprise him, after all. Who am I not to deliver?_

      "I'm looking at all of the halloween decorations," Keith's voice filters through his thoughts and he's brought back to reality. He grabs at the complete opposite of a green tea bag and sets it and a sibling aside. "You guys seriously went all out. I'm almost surprised there isn't a life-sized skeleton somewhere."

       Lance snorts, "Oh man, I wish. But no, Hunk like, refused to let me put up any of the really scary decorations." The microwave screams into the room, and Lance yanks the door open the second it finishes. He tests the handles of the two mugs and finds that they're surprisingly cool enough to grip for the two seconds journey from microwave to counter, which is more than enough time for Lance to finish his complaint. "Wouldn't even let me put up spider webs man, like what kind of jank shit is that?"

       "A true crime, I'm sure," Keith deadpans, but the smile tinging his lips spoils the tone.

       Lance tears open the two tea bag packets and gives each of them a few dunks in the steaming water before they were soaked enough to stay under themselves. "No, like, plastic spiders, or small skeletons, or disguised glitter bombs - okay so maybe he has warrant to fear those, that shit gets _everywhere._ But the other stuff is just because he's got a heart of glass when it comes to scary décor."

       "So wait," Keith says, and Lance turns to him, resting back against the counter edge as he idly dunks one of the tea bags methodically. _"You're_ the one who decorated?"

       "The one and only," Lance smirks at the appalled and slightly impressed look on Keith's face as he goes back to looking around.

       "Huh."

       "What?"

       "Honestly?" Keith starts, "When I first walked in, I thought your roommate was the one who decorated. I didn't see you as the type to decorate for holidays, least of all a rather small one like Halloween."

       "Alright, first of all, rude," Lance rolls his eyes and abandons the tea bag, before picking up the string of the other and doing the same dunking thing to it. "I _love_ holidays. They were always a huge thing with my family. Especially Halloween, which is second only to Christmas. My siblings and I would always take the twins out, and we'd collab on all our costumes."  He turns to reach for the bowl of sugar, lanky arms stretching to grab it and slide it closer to reduce his chances of spilling sugar everywhere. His face seems to soften as he does so, eyes unseeing as he pauses, fingers lightly clasped over the handle of the spoon sitting loyally in the sugar. "We had this really busy, packed street full of kids, and the twins would race to the houses to get there before the other groups of kids. One time, Juliana ended up tripping on this old lady's porch a few houses down, and knocked out her first tooth. She was more upset about the fact that she couldn't eat candy than about her face." He gives a cheerful laugh at that, but something about it is breathy and soft.

       From his spot on the couch, Keith pulls in his legs with loose arms and smiles at him. There is something about Lance right now that is so open and pure, exposed from behind his façade that Keith is beginning to realize is more defensive that egotistical. That Lance wasn't here right now, the mask was gone and the smile gently kneading at the tan boy's facial features was fond and unforced, for once. Something in Keith's chest flutters into place with a soft click, the skin on the underside of his left wrist tingles, and he smiles softly.

       Lance recovers from his trance rather quickly, barely a few seconds passing before he turns to quirk a brow at his guest when he resumes force-steeping the tea. "Also, you're calling Halloween a small holiday? Christ, what rock do _you_ live under?"

       Keith's smile drops and he looks mildly offended, "I don't live under a rock!" He blows a sharp breath upwards, and Lance raises a brow as he watches a chunk of the other's thick bangs jump up and flutter back down. "I just- don't get out often."

       "Yeah, I got that much."

       "But I totally agree with the Christmas being the top holiday thing," Keith adds, swiveling an arm over the back corner of the couch to gently hold the hanging pumpkin mobile hovering in the window. Its laminated surface reflects the fluorescent lighting in waves and he smiles a bit, "Too bad I've never seen a white Christmas, though. Sounds pretty."

       Lance looks surprised and his face twists in obvious discomforted confusion, "Woah, wait, you've never... like have you never seen snow before?"

       Keith snorts softly and lets the small pumpkin flutter from his finger, watching it twist this way and that as it falls back into place with the others. "I didn't say that. I said I've never seen a white Christmas. Like snow, on Christmas day. I've never been up north for it."

       "Well, baby, I can certainly show you a white Christmas, if that's what you're lookin-," Lance says coyly before a wet shirt smacks him in the chest, his words cut off with a hard 'oof!' The sloppy article drops to the floor with a soft 'plop', leaving a wet mark on the brunet's chest, stark black against the light grey of his shirt.

       "Do the world a favor and literally never open your mouth again," Keith snarks, a satisfied look on his face from his direct hit.

       "You wound me, Keith," Lance huffs, tugging at the wet fabric to get it off his chest, giving it a few puffs against him to try and dry it out. "I'm making you tea and you hit me in the chest with a wet shirt because of my awesome pick-up line."

       "'Awesome' is definitely not the adjective I would use," Keith deadpans, face dropping to a look of distaste. "Nor would I call it a pick-up line. It was just gross."

       "Pssh, whatevs dude, my pick-up lines are great." Lance  pulls the tea bags out, giving them a soft squeeze for the extra water to drain before throwing them to the trash. He starts spooning sugar into them each, halving the sugar in one so as to keep it not too sweet. Keith doesn't respond, and when Lance turns around, he finds the other looking at his phone with a slightly perturbed expression, lips twisted in a focused pout. A lock of bang loosens and falls in front of Keith's eye, and he swipes it back with a practiced hand subconsciously. Lance's lungs force his breath out, and for a second he forgets how to breathe.

       Then he's crossing the short distance to the other, holding out the mug that says 'I'm not a morning purrson' for him to take, a little cat mouth stretching below the words. "Here you are, Keithers. Don't burn yourself, it's hot." Keith blinks away from his phone screen and places it on the arm of the chair, sleeved hands coming up and grasping the cheap ceramic cup with a bland but soft thanks. He gives the surface a few blows as Lance moves to sit next to him, wasting no time in taking a test sip for himself and humming contently. Keith quickly follows suit, and finds himself smiling at the gentle sweetness that washed over his tongue.

       "Good?" Lance asks, and Keith hums back at him.

       "It's a little sweet. What is it?"

       Lance takes a small sip himself, lips curling into a grin, "Peach Cobbler Dessert Tea, with half the amount of sugar I put in mine."

       Keith wrinkles his nose in distaste at him, eyes narrowing before he goes back to take another sip, lips hovering over the lip as he speaks. "I don't even want to imagine what yours tastes like then."

       "You're missin' out, my dude."

       They sit in silence for a few moments, just sipping their drinks and sitting next to each other. The only noise between them being that of their breaths, and soft clicking of the heater as the metal expands from the life-giving heat they both so desperately need. Keith stops shivering by the time he's half done with his tea, the pit of his stomach warm and fuzzy.

       Keith finally breaks the silence. "You have an awful lot of plants in here." Lance gives a noise of assent as he takes a sip, so Keith continues, "Would I be wrong in saying that they're Hunks?"

       "You would indeed, my screamo amigo," Lance teases, chuckling at the other's unamused scowl. "Most of them I planted and grew myself, but some I bought from work."

       Keith looks up in surprise, his motion for another sip disrupted as he looks over, "You work at a flower shop?"

       "Balmera Nursery," the brunet replies, idly swirling the half-drained liquid in his cup. "It's about a twenty minute walk from campus, opposite direction of Loca. It's pretty expansive, honestly."

       "Do they have cacti?" Keith asks and Lance looks up in thought.

       "I think so? Wait, yes, they do. Just not a lot of actual cacti. We've plenty of prickly plants, if that's what you're looking for."

       Keith pulls his legs in a little tighter, feet dipping to the side towards Lance for a more comfortable position, "I mean, I know I'm definitely not home long enough to take care of something that's attention-heavy. And Shiro's got a purple thumb." His shoulders droop a bit, and he idly smooths a thumb over the lip of his mug. "Figured a cactus would be a good compromise."

       "Why not a succulent then," Lance muses. "I mean, if you want something that doesn't need a lot of water and is pretty, that's what I go for."

       Keith rests his mug against his lips, mumbling "Maybe" before taking a sip, and they fall back into silence. It's comfortable and neither really have a problem with letting it stretch for a bit.

       Lance breaks it this time, "So do you like plants?"

       "I do," Keith says, tilting his head back a bit to drain his cup, swallowing hard as he placed the empty mug on the small, rounded table sitting beside the couch.

       "Got a favorite? And please don't be roses." Lance gives a laugh before he follows Keith's lead, tilting his head back and downing the rest of his drink.

       "I like Christmas flowers, does that count ?"

       "Yes, but only if you know their proper name." Lance glances at him, sideways look disbelieving and waiting.

       Keith wastes no time, "Poinsettias." He grins when Lance actually look surprised.

       "Hello, nine-one-one? Yeah, I might be having a heart attack because some cute guy actually knows the correct name for the commercially famous Christmas Flower." Lance feigns weakness and manages to simultaneously set his mug down out of harms way and flop onto Keith at the same time, free hand clutched over the still-wet spot on his chest. "I don't think I'll make it."

       Keith is a little startled by the sudden physical contact, but rolls his eyes as he deadpans, "Oh dear, what ever will you do?"

       "CPR would be nice." And that's all Lance can get out before Keith unceremoniously shoves him onto the floor, a squawk of surprise bouncing out of his lips that leaves Keith laughing outright. The brunet glares up at him from the floor before kicking his legs into the air, flipping them over his head to flip backwards onto his feet in one fluid motion. His shirt rides up on him, exposing for just a moment the soft creaminess of his lower abdomen and hips, before he subconsciously tugs it back down as he straightens. Not that Keith misses it, or the little dark smudge against Lance's skin from his happy trail. "You're lucky you look like a doll in that sweater or I'd kick your ass, mullet man," he growls through the smirk on his face.

       Keith snorts and tips his head into his shoulder as he raises a brow, "Trust me, I am shaking in my boots at the thought of your flat, beanpole ass taking a swing at me."

       "At least I can shake my ass better than you!" It's not even a threat, it's like a misplaced gloat that has Keith outright laughing, and Lance pulling back with surprise before he grins. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, fingers a flurry over the screen before he tosses it to the cushions next to Keith, who's face has turned to curiosity and confusion. Lance just continues to smirk, and after a moment, music starts to play. A few electric guitar chords are strummed and then there's the sound of bells jingling to the rhythm. Keiths eyes widen in recognition, and if Lance's smile could get any bigger, it'd take over his entire face.

       Lance starts singing along to the words, voice thrumming and light-hearted, rotating his hips in half-circles to the music. _"Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock. Jingle Bell swing and Jingle Bell ring."_ He starts snapping to the beat, and Keith can't help a grin from plastering his face, even as he feels his cheeks warming at the sight.  " _Snowin' and blowin'-"_ he wiggles his eyebrows and Keith laughs "- _up bushels of fun. Now the Jingle hop has begun."_  He does a spin that brings him closer to Keith, and lands it with one hand held out to the other. Keith's laugh dies down and he blinks at the extended fingers before shaking his head up at Lance. "C'mon, dance with me dude. There's no one else here."

        _"You're_ here," the dark-haired boy counters, reluctant to leave his warm spot on the couch. Or dance in front of someone else, for that matter.

       "Oh, so are you admitting that I can, in fact, shake my ass better than you?" Lance asks coyly, but his hand remains outstretched.

       Keith's eyes narrow, the light glinting indigo through thick lashes, "I said no such thing."

       Lance shrugs, "Then prove me wrong." Keith hesitates, searching Lance's face for signs of trickery, but all he can see is honest challenge and... uncertainty? Whatever it is, it's enough to make Keith reach out his hand, and let Lance pull him to his feet. The brunet's face lights up and he pulls the other backwards with him to make a little more space, spinning once more as he jumps back into song. _"What a bright time, it's the right time, to rock the night away."_

        _"Jingle Bell time is a swell time,"_ Keith joins him, his inhibitions melting away with the heat and the moment and Lance looking at him like he's more than just a Shadow or a stranger. He moves in time with the music, rocking his hips and leaning with his shoulders, following Lance's example and giving himself a spin towards the taller boy. He lands with one foot between Lance's, barely enough space to keep their chests from brushing, breath slipping from his smirk and caressing Lance's flushing and shocked face. His voice is deep and husky as he practically purrs out the next line with hooded eyes, _"To go riding in a one-horse sleigh."_

       Lance looks like his knees are about to give way beneath him, whole body tense and Keith thinks to himself that red is a beautiful compliment to that coffee-shaded skin. He slides away from Lance, still singing the lyrics as he dances, laughing at Lance who's just standing there watching him. There's a light feeling in his chest that's blooming, spreading warmth to the very tips of his fingers and toes, and he feels like he could walk on water. "What's wrong, McClain? Admitting defeat, already?"

       Lance finally breaks from his trance and slides in to join him in dance once more, "In your dreams, pretty boy."

       "Oh, haven't heard that one since you first made fun of my hair," Keith hums, and he slides away, snapping to the beat. He gives a sly grin, "Still not very creative though."

       "It's only been three days," Lance counters and he gives his shoulders a shimmie. "Give me a few more!"

       Keith spins towards him, one finger pressed to Lance's chest as he quirks a brow, "You've only got till Friday, and then we go our separate ways." He almost thinks he sees Lance's smile falter, but then he's taking Keith's wrist in his hand and using it as leverage to spin him around. The dark-haired boy goes with it, mainly because he's caught off guard, landing with a soft thump with his back against Lance's chest. His arm is crossed over himself, and Lance slides his hand from Keith's wrist to his palm, gripping gently.

       "Guess I'll have to make the most of my time, then," he coos playfully in Keith's ear, and the slightly shorter boy represses a shiver before Lance spins him back around and lets go. The ravenet watches him slide back, snapping and jumping back into song. As he falls back into rhythm with the music and Lance's moves, Keith gets a heavy feeling in his stomach that Lance had meant more to that statement then he was letting on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so appalled by how much people like this fic, I really didn't think it would get noticed at all since it was such a slew of cliche AUs. I'm so glad everyone likes it!! Please, just keep enjoying it. That's all I ask.
> 
> Also, the Broadway musical of Alexander Hamilton is, let's be honest, absolutely something both of these losers would be into. Especially Lance, when it comes to spontaneous rap duets.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Lance, pedazo de mierda! - Lance, you piece of shit!  
> ¡Llegas tarde de nuevo! - You're late again!  
> ¿Cuántas veces tengo que decirte que no te voy a pagar por el tiempo que no estás aquí? - How many times do I have to tell you I will not pay for the time you're not here?  
> ¿Sabe usted cuánto podría estar haciendo en esos pocos minutos? - Do you know how much you could be doing in these few minutes?  
> Podrías haber barrido la tienda - You could have swept the store  
> o regado las rosas - or watered the roses  
> o incluso reponer los sacos de semillas - or even replenish the seed bags!  
> If you want to tag me in anything related to the fic, my tumblr is Seabreezy.tumblr.com


	3. Message in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance gets some advice and tries to figure out how to deal with his internal issues with Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is??? long?? My B. Sorry this update is late! 
> 
> More platonic Shay/Lance interactions :D Lots of internal Langst. Enjoy~

       "This fucking sucks," Lance grumbles under his breath, which is to say, very much out loud. He's currently reorganizing the window display, pulling out the wilting flowers and replacing them with fresh, colorful plants. He hears a soft series of laughs behind him, turning to scowl lightly at the girl currently sitting behind the counter nearby, leaning on her hand as she stares out into the room unseeing. "Shoot, did I say that out loud?"

       "You did," the other replies, smiling. A lock of her bangs falls out of place, but she leaves it there. "Would you like to talk about it?"

       "Nah, it's fine," the brunet replies, turning back to the display and gently tugging a small pot with a drooping fern from the group. It looks a little sad to be pulled from the others, but Lance sets it aside with the other few plants who need a little TLC. "It's just dumb personal stuff."

       He hears her hum in thought, "Perhaps, but talking about what bothers you seems to help." She pushes herself up and tucks the loose lock back into place again, turning towards where his voice is coming from and offering a smile.

       The lanky teen gives a sigh, shoulders slumping even as a soft smile tinges his lips, "Damn Shay, you right, you right." He scans the array of fresh plants he has with him, picking out a soft pink and green succulent and sliding it between two other pots. He thinks maybe telling her is dumb, and that she needn't worry herself over his own insecurities, but he also knows that she's the only other person besides Hunk and his family who know the the truth behind his soulmark. She's always been supportive and trying to hide this from her would be rude. He trusts her. So he takes a breath and holds it for just a moment, "I uh, I guess the first thing you should know is that I met my soulmate last Friday."

       The other's eyes widen in surprise, eyebrows rising before a smile cautiously covers her lips, "I know you are very protective of your soulmark because of its contents, but it is good that you finally met your soulmate, right?"

       "I guess?" Lance's brow furrows as he tries to adjust some of the pots and containers so that they match, "But I, um..." He sighs again, louder this time and he can see Shay give him a questioning look. "I think it's unrequited."

       "Why would you think that?" Shay tips her head, face falling to mild concern, "Do they not have your mark? Have you spoken to them?"

       Lance kind of shrugs and gives up on the arrangement, moving to check for more wilting plants, "We have. He's my partner for a shadowing program at school. We met when I went to go see my guidance counselor. He tripped and I went to catch him and he kind of, like, yanked his hand back and snapped my words." He swallowed hard, trying to push down the sour feelings that came with the memory, "It.. was a shock. I really wasn't prepared for it when it happened."

       "But you are all right?" Shay asks, and Lance appreciates the gentle concern in her voice.

       He turns a bit to give her a reassuring smile, even if she can't see it, she'll hear it in his voice. "I... suppose. For now."

       "You must not hide these things, Lance," she says, and Lance knows she's right when she continues. "It will become too much and come out at the wrong time."

       He gives a few soft laughs, trying to cover the insecure fog reaching for the heavy feeling in his chest, "I know, I know. But I just... I don't know if I can tell him? Like, how do you tell someone that he's you're one, when you're not his?"

       Shay gently folds her fingers together, leaning forward on the counter as she watches Lance work, "But how can you be certain that you are not his unless you have seen his soulmark?"

       "He didn't even recognize me the next day, Shay," Lance says with a laugh, but the sound is tinged with bitterness that makes the other furrow her thick brows at him. "Acted like the whole thing didn't happen."

       "Perhaps he felt guilty," Shay replies.

       Lance scoffs as he picks up a couple of small daisies, gently pushing them to the front of a shelf, "I doubt it. Dude's kind of an asshole."

       "You say that, but your face betrays you," the other hums, threading her fingers into her hair and twisting a longer lock between her fingers.

       Lance rolls his eyes, "You can't even see my face, Shay."

       She gives a light laugh, "That is true, but I don't have to. I just know."

       "You know, the worst part is, you're probably still right. As usual." Lance sighs again and straightens up from where he was bent over, switching around pots on the bottom-most shelves.

       "So tell me, why do you not like your soulmate?" Shay inquires, blinking vacant eyes in his direction, but the look of curiosity is still there.

       Lance looks to the side a little guiltily, "I never said I didn't like him."

       "You said, and I quote, 'Dude's kind of an asshole'." She gives him a small, knowing smile when she hears him grumble back.

       "Doesn't mean I don't like him." Lance moves to cross the short distance to the counter, figuring a break is in order after the past hour of rearranging the display. It's nearly finished anyways. He turns and leans back against the counter when he reaches it, running a hand through his short and primed locks before crossing his arms in front of him. "Dude like, never answers his phone, for one thing. Like I could literally spam him all day and get nothing. Maybe a 'k', and I don't know if that's better or worse. He never wants to hang out outside of class either, but whenever we're together, it's actually..." He trails off as he tries to think of the right word, brows screwing as he tilts his head back to squint at the ceiling. "I guess I would say it's almost fun? We actually have a lot in common and when he's not picking a fight with me-"

       "Are you certain _he_ is the one picking the fights, Lance?" Shay cuts in, leaning forward as she side-eyes him for what it's worth.

       Lance pinches his shoulders up in a shrug, "Alright, so maybe like, _half_ the time, I'm picking them. But he keeps them going!" The slightly shorter girl makes a sarcastic noise of assent, which Lance ignores. " _Anyways_ , I guess it's just frustrating that we actually kind of get along pretty well most of the time, and then he has no desire to like, hang out or talk outside of class."

       "Perhaps he is simply unsociable," the tan girl suggests, absently running a hand through the fringe of her bangs. She smiles at him when he looks over, "But I do not think your efforts are in vain. You are a very good person, whether you truly believe it or not. That is why you are easy to get along with. Your soulmate will see that."

       "Thanks," Lance says before he exhales slowly. "But you're kind of forgetting the whole 'unrequited' part."

       "I believe I said you cannot know it is truly unrequited until you have seen his mark," the other responds before pushing herself back and ducking down to reach under the counter. She pulls open the mini-fridge that sits under the register, pulling out a Peach Snapple and handing it to Lance when she straightens. "And I think that even if your soulmark is unrequited, you should try and forge a friendship with him, anyways."

       Lance takes the bottle and pops the cap open, taking a sip before responding, "What I don't get is why we're so easy to get along with if we only just met a few days ago."

       "Do you not know?" Shay asks, her eyebrows rising curiously as Lance gives her a questioning look. "It is expected that friendships take many months, even years, to grow. More so for romantic relationships with one who is not your soulmate, or already have a platonic soulmate. But for those who are destined to be together, they can create a very strong relationship in a matter of weeks, if not days. It varies from couple to couple."

       "Does that even apply to unrequited ones?" The brunet mumbles around the lip of his bottle, tilting it to take a sip afterwards.

       "I would think so," Shay hums, leaning forward again as she looks over the shop. "Even though you insist your soulmark is unrequited, I would like to think you could still be friends with this boy, if you get along as well as you say."

       The taller boy groans and lets his head sag into his shoulder as he glowers weakly at her, "Alright, alright, I get it! Make friends with the guy who's basically the root of all my insecurities and self-worth issues."

       "The salt is unneeded, Lance," The tan girl says calmly, head piquing as the bell hanging over the door rings. Lance pushes himself off the counter and gives the newcomer a cheerful hello, thankful for an interruption to end the conversation he was starting to regret instigating.

♡  ♡  ♡

       Lance is still thinking about his conversation with Shay later, during his drawing class. He and Keith have hardly spoken during the last two classes, Lance being wrapped up in his own thoughts once he'd left work to head to the library to pick up Keith. The other had noticed, even questioned him on it when they went to get dinner, but the brunet waved him off as just being tired and not getting a lot of sleep the night before. Blaming it on the tea. Keith had believed him, or at least, he'd dropped the subject and let silence fall between them. But despite that, it wasn't heavy or awkward, just filling.

       Now he was in his Drawing class, heavily focused on his piece and working on the finer details. His fingers moved the charcoal with grace, threading line after line over the smooth surface, embroidering a beautiful still-life over the toned paper. He had headphones in, blasting his music as an intense wall between him and outside distractions. He felt lighter than before; freer, less entangled and trapped by sticky, unhealthy thoughts and complicated emotions. He was well into the groove and happy to stay there.

       At least, until _someone_ decided they should pull out one of his headphones without warning.

       " _Lance!_ " Keith practically shouts into his ear, and the brunet whips his head towards him, face already contorted in an annoyed scowl.

       "Dude, what the fuck! You can't just yank out someone's headphones like that!" He snaps, reaching up to slap a hand over his freed ear, but Keith merely raises a brow.

       He's grinning when he says, "You were singing out loud, did you know that?"

       "What! I totally wasn't!" Lance squawks back, shoulders bunching up defensively.

       "You were. Beyoncé, too," He chuckles a bit, and Lance can feel heat trying to creep up his neck as he scowls at him. He adds a teasing tone when he runs a hand through his hair, "I didn't know you knew all the words to _Single Ladies_."

       The brunet leans forward and points his charcoal in the dark-haired boy's face, "Keith, don't even start with me, alright? Single Ladies is a _great_ song!"

       "So you admit you were singing it, then?"

       Lance wants to smack that knowing smirk right off his face, "No, I definitely _don't._ " He waves the stick of charcoal in the air, gesturing towards the rest of the class. "Do you have any witnesses? No, I think not. Case closed."

       "You were totally singing, dude," Eric calls over from his corner on the other side of the room, smirking at the two where they stand.

       Lance turns to huff at him, putting his piece of charcoal on the small ledge of his easel, "Overruled. You don't count, Eric."

       "Everyone heard you, Lance," a girl near the door says, never taking her eyes off her work. "It's kind of hard not to."

       The brunet throws up his hands, "Well why didn't anyone fucking tell me sooner! I would have stopped if it bothered you all so much."

       "No one said it bothered us, man. Take a chill pill," Eric says, leaning back against the stool he always keeps behind him when he needs to sit back and scrutinize his work. "Besides, we all know you've got a nice voice, and no one really minded enough to say anything." There's a few agreements from other students who don't have their headphones in, and Lance can feel the irritation that had been bubbling in his gut begin to fizzle out.

       "You're music taste is still garbage though," Keith pipes in, smirking. He ducks behind the easel as Lance picks up his eraser and chucks it at him, reflexes ridiculously fast.

       "You take that back!" Lance hisses, and he leans around the side of his prop to glower at the other's back. "My music taste is fantastic, you dumb emo!" Keith merely wrinkles his nose at him before the professor clears his throat, giving them both a stern look. They both grumble apologies and return to their work.

       By the time class is over, Lance has fallen into a terrible posture, and he winces as he forcefully stretches out of it. His muscles ache and there are several, slightly-sickening pops and cracks from his spinal chord. He groans softly and tries not to let the pain of sore muscles show in his face. But as luck would have it, or rather _not_ have it, Keith notices as he's putting away his charcoal pencils. He blinks at Lance, and the brunet gives him a slanted look.

       "What? Is there charcoal on my face again, because I literally don't care at this point," Lance growls out, but the lack of bite is blatantly apparent.

       Keith only finishes packing up, saying, "No, you just look like you're in a lot of discomfort."

       "Stunning deduction, Sherlock," Lance grumbles, and starts carefully picking off his paper from the board. "Did the spinal cracks and winces of pain give it away, or were you previously informed of my posture problems?"

       Keith rolls his eyes and starts peeling off his own piece after putting away his materials, "Alright Lance, tone down the salt. My cholesterol doesn't need it."

       Lance merely sticks a pout on his lips and furrows his brows, "Well, excuse me, Mr. Keith Van Gogh."

       The dark-haired boy groans and put the heel of his palm to on eye, "Why are you so hard to be nice to?"

       "I really hope you're not talking about me, because you have definitely not been nice to me today," the brunet replies dryly .

       "Well, let me fix that," Keith says and Lance side-eyes him. The other is looking over at him with that stubbornly serious look, and Lance feels something warm in his chest, which he ignores. "Let's go to Loca Mocha and I'll get you a drink so you can relax.

       The lanky teen wants to accept, because this is Keith offering to spend time with him outside of class for the first time in three days. Lance didn't actually count yesterday, when they'd had an impromptu hang out session in Lance's dorm room after getting caught in the rain. Something about it is a little bitter sweet, but he'd definitely enjoyed himself and spending time with Keith. Still, he pointedly turns his head with a click of his tongue replied, "I don't need a drink to relax, I'm already super relaxed! I am the _epitome_ of relaxation!"

       Keith sighs and finishes cleaning up, crossing his arms as he looks down at Lance, "I know you don't have any classes after this, and I'll drive you back to the dorms too."

       Lance grumbles unintelligibly under his breath, hoping that if he stalls long enough, the other will just go away. But he doesn't; Keith is still standing there, hair pulled into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, bangs pushed back by a thick red headband, leaving the full brunt of his adamant stare hitting Lance, unhindered. He's dragging his feet now, purposefully putting things away as slowly as he can and Keith groans at him.

       "Laaance. Come on. Do you hate spending time with me _that_ much?"

       "I never said I hated spending time with you," he mumbles back, and is surprised when he gets no rebuttal for that. He turns to look at Keith, who is giving him a wide-eyed look, and Lance absently thinks he looks like a startled cat. It's pretty cute, especially with the splash of red soaking his cheeks, staining them deeper by the second. Still, he doesn't let up with his weak scowl, and shoves his eraser and point-three millimeter mechanical pencil in one of the smaller pockets of his bag. "What, cat got your tongue? I know I'm beautiful, but I didn't know I could make people speechless."

       He yelps when there's a cuff over his head, and he looks up to see Keith shaking his head. "Just accept my offer, McClain. I'm trying to be nice to you, like you want."

       "Well just being nice because I want it is a pretty lousy reason to be nice," Lance huffs, and Keith quirks a brow. "You should be nice to me because you want to be, not because I asked you to." He pushes himself to stand, wincing again as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and picks up his art supplies that are too big to fit in it. "Ugh, freaking- _whatever,_ fine.

       The dark-haired boy looks almost relieved and actually a little happy, a small smile coming up. "Put the materials in your locker - I'll go get Red and bring her around the building so you don't have to walk too far." Lance raises his head to protest, but the other was already slipping out the door, leaving his drawing and materials abandoned on the floor next to his own. The tan boy closes his mouth, breathing a sigh between his lips as he finally tucks away the last of his materials. At this point, most of the class is empty, save for a couple stragglers. Eric comes over, portfolio in one hand and bag slung over his shoulder as he gives Lance a sympathetic look.

       The brunet grumbles as he starts grabbing up all the materials, "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

       "I wasn't judging, bro," Eric says with a half-shrug.

       Lance rolls his eyes, scooping the two bags of materials up and twisting them around his wrist, "Eric, don't even with me, you are the most judgmental hoe in this room."

       "That's quite a compliment coming from the drama king himself," The light-haired boy sneers, but it's more jousting than rude. Lance shoots him a scowl and the other raises his hands defensively, "Ah, ah. Chill, I'm just messin'. You're easy to mess around with." He puts his portfolio down and leans it against his leg, as he goes to reach for Lance's own.

       The brunet paused when he saw the other stoop down, eyes widening as he realizes what his friend is doing. He partially straightens, looking up at him with furrowed brows, "Dude, it's fine, I can get-"

       Eric cuts him off with a chuckle, "Nah man, let me help. You've got enough to worry about."

       The brunet narrows his eyes warily, letting the other grab his portfolio while he picked up the two bags of materials and his backpack, shrugging the latter of his shoulder and moving for the door. "Fine. But what do you mean by 'enough to worry about'? Midterms aren't for another week and a half."

       He looks over his shoulder in time to see one dark brow raise, melding in with the white bangs as Eric gives Lance a knowing smile, "Well, you gotta get a handle on your crush on Keith, don't you?" He laughs outright when Lance half-runs into the door, shoulder colliding with the door-frame and he stumbles.

       " _What?"_ The lanky teen coughs, trying to reach up to rub the point of impact in his shoulder. "Eric, Ricky, Riri, what the fuck, dude? _No."_ The other only shakes his head as Lance continues ranting, all the while stalking to his locker, "No no no, and again, no. Keith is a fucking asshole with a stupid eighties haircut, and an obnoxious, snarky attitude. He thinks he's so great just because he built his own motorcycle and can draw like a fucking prodigy. Just because he can quote Hamilton as well as I can, and sing like an American version of Ed Sheeran, does _not_ mean I like him. And I mean-!" He drops his carry-ons when he gets to his locker, angrily spinning the combination into the lock as Eric tries not to laugh behind him, biting hard on his bottom lip as Lance yanks the door open. "Who's fault is it that he has good genes? I mean, have you even _seen_ his eyes? They're like, purple or some shit, how is that natural? And he can dance like you fucking read about! I should just pin a nametag to his fucking shirt that says 'Hi, my name is Shakira' because those hips do _not_ fucking lie, man. They don't. Those are the most honest fucking hips I have ever seen and I am _weak_ man-" He pauses in his assault on his locker's contents, arms still half-buried into the open container as he slowly turns to look back at Eric. "I, uh, I was totally ranting all of that out loud, wasn't I?"

       At that point, Eric finally loses his hold on his composure, bursting out laughing. Lance can feel his face swell rapidly with a flush, and he turns his eyes to the floor, snatching the bags that his friend somehow still manages to hold out to him.

       "Holy _fuck,_ Lance!" The light-haired boy finally manages to sputter out after a few moments of catching his breath, pushing past the laughter still thick in his throat. "You have got it _so bad_ , my dude." Lance gets the spontaneous urge to slam his head into the locker and kick Eric in the teeth. He does neither, merely grumbling under his breath as he shoves the last of his materials away and closes the door with a weak slam. Eric clears his throat both as a way of dispersing the last of his giggles and getting Lance's attention, "In all seriousness though, dude. I know you're sensitive about the soulmark thing, but you shouldn't let that stop you from trying to pursue a relationship with someone."

       The brunet gives a sigh, picking up his backpack and hoisting it over a shoulder with a shrug, stifling a wince as the knot in his shoulder complained. "You know, usually I would adamantly disagree with you because you are _super_ wrong, but unfortunately, you are not the first person to say that to me today."

       "Then that should be enough for you to realize that maybe I'm _not_ wrong, as usual," the bleached-haired boy says with a softer smile this time, and Lance gives an awkward one of his own.

       Lance's phone vibrates then, and he scoops it out of his back pocket and taps the home button, gaze locking on to the hidden text notification. He quickly unlocks it and slides the hotbar down to tap the message, blinking at the message that pops up. It's from Keith, saying he's outside now, idling on the curb of the road just behind the building. He exhales slowly through his nose.

       Eric picks up his portfolio again, giving Lance a light pat on the shoulder with his free hand, "Just - think about it, man. See you Monday." Lance gives a noise of assent as the other leaves, striding down the hall and leaving Lance alone, his phone still loosely cradled in his fingers. He looks back down at the message and solidifies his resolve.

 _be down in a sec : [8:06 PM]_        

♡  ♡  ♡

       Keith is still sitting there when Lance wraps around the building, his bike parked with his feet and his helmet sitting on his knee, the low rumble of the engine a soft hum through the night air. It's nippy out, a chilly breeze blowing over the back of Lance's neck telling him winter is well on its way, and he can't stifle a shiver. The vast darkness overhead is littered with stars, the moon a bright, graceful curve against the sky. Keith hears him approaching and looks up from where he's scrolling through something on his phone, the glowing turquoise light of the dashboard and white light his phone giving his face sharp shadows and deep curves. Lance tries not to let his breath catch, forcing his legs forward steadily to close the distance.

       "Hey, what took you so long?" Keith asks, locking his phone and sliding it into his coat pocket.

       Lance turns up his nose, "Well, I had to put away all the art materials _somebody_ left all over the floor. _By myself_ , mind you!" Keith gives an unapologetic shrug, reaching behind him and grabbing the spare helmet where it sits on the seat.

       "I'm sure it was _very_ difficult. Just get on and let's go," he says, tossing the protective gear to Lance, who catches it easily before putting it on as Keith does the same. The brunet sighed under his breath, and slips the other strap of his backpack over his shoulder to secure it to his back. He puts on the helmet as he swings a leg over the seat of Keith's bike, trying not to wince when he gives a small scooch forwards, snaking his arms over Keith's waist. Keith turns to look at him over his shoulder, but Lance can't see his eyes through the tinted visor in the dark. He prays the other can't see his, either. "You good?"

       "Super duper," Lance replies, and tries throwing on his usual smirk for added effect. "Just try not to kill us with your crazy driving, mullet man." He can tell Keith is pouting at him from the way his lips pinch together before he turns forward, lifting one foot off the ground. He doesn't reply, just revs the engine a few times, and then they're shooting forwards into the night. The wind bites at his neck, so Lance hunches his shoulders and watches the scenery fly by over Keith's shoulder. It's a blur of deep browns and blues, a flash of color from a sign or a lit building every once in awhile.

       Lance's mind wanders easily, much more relaxed when Keith is actually doing under ten miles over the speed limit, and slowing down a bit when he takes the turns. He thinks back to Shay, and how she suggested that being friends with Keith wouldn't be impossible. Lance knew she was right, and that he and Keith actually got along fairly well, despite their near-constant bickering. They had a lot in common that the brunet could easily work with: They both loved Hamilton and could quote every song and jump into duets without practice, syncing perfectly. They both loved Christmas music year-round and decorating for holidays, and Lance had even found out about Keith's secret love for plants, despite him never really having one. He even had an interest in art, which was a little bittersweet to admit. All things that Lance held near and dear to his heart.

       But actually holding onto him as a friend, when Lance knew Keith was his one, was another issue entirely. He was convinced his soulmark was unrequited, despite how quickly they'd grown accustomed to each other over the past three days, and that was the real barrier that Lance was struggling to break through. As much as he would deny it out loud, he actually did like Keith. Liked the way his nose crinkled when he laughed, the way his freckles danced along his cheeks when he smiled, and his eyes lit up like the star on top of a Christmas tree when Lance proudly praised his art, or openly supported his opinions in class. He loved the way his heart stumbled in its rhythm when Keith snorted at his jokes, or when he hummed quietly to himself while he took notes, or the little, almost imperceptible hip swivels as he rocked to his music while he drew at his easel.

       Lance pressed his forehead between Keith's shoulder blades and swallowed. Eric was right, he _did_ have it bad.

       They come to a stop at a red light behind a Dodge Dynasty the color of clear spring skies, and the brunet subconsciously sighs.

       Keith, unfortunately for Lance, notices and turns his head to look at him again. Lance likes the hint of concern he hear in his voice, "Seriously, you alright?"

       Lance nods and then jerks his head at the road before them, "I'm fine, man. Just focus on the road." Thankfully the light turns green and they continue their ride where they left off. Keith is silent until they get to the coffee shop, and Lance has a momentary thought that he could get used to riding with Keith, before sliding off after him. He hands his helmet to Keith, who throws them in the trunk. Lance trails behind a bit, eyes on the ground, but he gives Keith a smile and as chipper of a "thanks" as he can manage when Keith holds the door open for him.

       He's grateful when the heat wraps around him as the door closes, Keith slipping past him and heading towards the counter. The bitter scent of coffee is a comfort, and Lance inhales deeply, letting the smell calm some of the bubbling anxiety he's been trying to repress all day. He slides his hands casually into his pockets, following the dark-haired male. There's a different girl behind the counter this time, much shorter than either of them, with long brown hair partially pulled back in two messy buns on either side of her head. She turns equally brown eyes to them, and they light up when they land on Keith.

       "Oh, Keith! I haven't seen you in a while since you started taking the late night shifts," She turns and leans on the counter, and Lance would have normally been drawn to her slim physique and pretty face, but right now he was a little distracted. He's staring at a stain that's barely visible on a nearby table and doesn't realize that Keith is trying to get his attention until the other gives his shoulder a nudge.

       "Lance!" He snaps, but the bite is missing.

       The brunet jerks his head up, wide-eyed, "Shit, what, yes, yeah, I'm here, what's up?"

       "Are you gunna order, or go back to dreamland?" Keith says with an unamused quirk to his brow.

       "Um, sorry, I'll uh," he fumbles for his words and laughs to cover it up. "I'll get whatever he's getting, just make it like, three times as sweet, please." The barista nods with a small smile, and typed down the order as Lance slips his hand in his pocket for his wallet.

       Before he can even get it out, Keith is stepping forward and holding up a halting hand, "I said I'd buy you a drink, and I intend to follow through. So don't worry about it."

       Lance quirks a brow, "It's fine dude, you don't actually have to." But Keith is already stepping forward, debit card being sliced through the card reader, and then he's putting it away. The lanky teen gives a small laugh under his breath, "You're being awfully passive-aggressive tonight, Keithers. More so than usual."

       "Maybe it's because some dumb frat boy won't accept kindness unless I'm passive-aggressive about giving it," the dark-haired boy counters, turning and giving Lance a huff. "Even when he himself dishes it out like he's got a limitless supply."

       Lance rolls his eyes and turns on his heel, throwing a dismissive hand in the air, "Whatever, Keith." He makes his way to the table they sat at last time, slipping into his chair. He can hear Keith following him, steel-toed boots loud against the hardwood floor, and then he's sliding into the chair across from Lance. "So how do you like classes so far?" Keith gives him a confused look so Lance elaborates, "You know, classes. My classes. Which you are currently attending as part of the Firefly Lanterns program. Anything strike your fancy?"

       Keith leans back in his chair, one hand coming up to rest the side of his knuckle on his chin in thought, "Hm, honestly, they're all surprisingly interesting. But I really do like the drawing and design class." Lance gives a soft laugh; he'd seen that one coming.

       "Well, there's plenty of room in class for more art students, but maybe you could try architectural design or something."

       Keith looks a little put off, "Sounds boring as shit."

       "It kind of is, but if you built your own state-of-the-art motorcycle, then maybe you should consider it." Lance shrugs halfheartedly, trying to keep a cocky smile on his lips, "Don't waste your time with art, dude."

       "Is that what you think you're doing?" The other inquires, tilting his head at Lance as he stares at him from across the table, "'Wasting your time'?"

       "Not a lot you can do with art, man. It's a really hard field to get started in." Lance runs a hand through his hair, smirking to the side. "Even worse with music. And both are the only things I'm even decent at." He laughs then, but he can taste the bitterness and salt coating his words, and he knows Keith can hear it when he speaks. He quickly tries to change the subject, leaning forward on the table and finally taking a chance at looking Keith in the face. "So what do you think? Maybe try architectural design? Though that would put you in the same building as me most of the time."

       "I don't think that's a bad thing. You're fun to hang out with, when you're not being a cocky prat," Keith smirks when Lance's face drops to honest surprise. He tips his head to his shoulder in a casual gesture, looking to the side as he says, "We could do it more, if you want. Hanging out, that is."

       Lance is just looking at him like he'd grown two extra pairs of eyes, pushing himself up after a moment and screwing his face into a pout, "Well, that _would_ be nice if _someone_ actually knew how to, I don't know, actually answer his phone with more than just a 'k' every thirty or so messages." He huffs and Keith looks a little guilty.

       His shoulders pinch up defensively, "Hey, I work two part-time jobs and I'm a full time student. Of course I'm not going to respond to every mundane and superfluous text you send me." He gives the other a slanted look, "Which includes the army of memes you sent me at three in the morning last night."

       "Oh, so you _did_ get those!" Lance retorts and Keith pulls in the corners of his lips in an attempt to stifle a grin.

       "Yeah, you know, when I was trying to sleep. That thing you're supposed to be doing at three a.m.?" Before Lance can retort, the barista comes over and sets both drinks in front of them. The two coffee mugs are filled to the brim with a dark liquid practically emanating a hot, sweet scent, evident by the thick coils of steam filtering into the air.

       "Arguing again, Keith?" She hums, giving him a playfully slanted look.

       "Go away, Sam," Keith grumbles.

       "Yeah, yeah, you're welcome," She waves off the glare he sends her with practiced ease. "They're pretty hot, let them cool for a bit." The ravenet merely grunts in response as Lance gives her a proper, soft thanks. She smiles politely at him and heads back to the counter. Lance peers into the mug curiously, actually having no idea what he orders, but from the honey-green and scent of natural sugar, he guesses it's green tea with honey.

       "You did order your regular, right?" He asks and Keith nods, which makes Lance wrinkle his nose. "Let's hope she put enough honey in it then."

       "I seriously don't see why you need everything to be so sweet, unless it's to cover that sour personality you got there," Keith teases, reaching for his own mug and giving the surface a few blows.

       Lance's tenses defensively and throws an elbow to the table, pointing accusingly at Keith as he scowls, "Oh, _you're_ one to talk! All you do is pick on me."

       "Alright, whoa," Keith starts, putting his drink down again. "This coming from the guy who's first reaction to meeting me was to make fun of my hair?"

       "That reaction was well warranted, mullet man," Lance huffs, turning his head sharply to the side, flicking his short, fluffy locks.

       "Augh, it totally wasn't!" The dark-haired boy replies, actually scowling now as he slams his hand to the table. "It literally just grows like that!"

       "Well maybe you could just go get it cut-!" Lance dramatically sings his arm with the declaration, in the process, knocking over his cup and spilling half the contents over the table and Keith's hand. The other recoils with a hiss, snatching for the napkins as Lance fumble to right his cup. "Fuck, shit, sorry-" He tries to take the napkins from Keith to clean it up himself, but the other bats away the offending hands and starts dabbing it up himself one-handed. Lance grabs for napkins himself and starts dabbing at the edge of pooling liquid closest to him. And Keith, for all his worth as an ace student with great reflexes, accidentally slides his hand too far and knocks over his own mug of hot tea, right over Lance's hands. The brunet yelps and yanks his hand back .

       "Damnit, I didn't mean-!" Keith tries, but at this point, Sam has come back with proper paper towels, giving them both an very unamused glare. She shoos them off to the bathroom, saying she'll clean up the ridiculous mess they made. Lance wastes no time in hurrying off, Keith looking back apologetically before following after him. Lance is cradling his lightly burnt hand, his face screwed up and pinched in on itself as he hisses a pained breath between his teeth. "Shit. Lance, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spill that on you."

       "I know, I know. I spilt mine on you first, anyways," the brunet looks over at him with a pained look, and if it weren't for the circumstances, Keith would have thought he looked uncomfortably constipated. " _Fuck,_ how are you not like, super in pain right now?"

       Keith closes the distance between them and reaches for the paper towel dispenser on the wall behind Lance, yanking a few from it. "I work at two different coffee shops, do you honestly think that's the first time I've spilled hot liquid over my hands?" He reaches for Lance's still soaked hands but he recoils, so the ravenet just hands him some of the towels to get the liquid off. "Did any get under your brace?" Keith asks as he moves to take his gloves off, dampening a wad of paper towels with cold water, though he does pointedly keep his wrists turned away from Lance's sight.

       "Yeah, I think so," the brunet says with furrowed brows, wincing as the scalding liquid is absorbed by the paper towels. "Ugh, it's soaked. Shit, I'll have to take it off."

       "Then take it off already?"

       Lance pulls in his lips and seems reluctant, but after a moment, he starts pulling the lace out and peels it off. He cradles his wrist to his chest when Keith turns around, but the other merely offers him the cold wad in silence. Lance takes it and quickly starts wiping down his skin, biting back another hiss of discomfort. Keith gives him an apologetic look before he starts prepping another wet wad for himself, a thick and soupy silence building between them.

       "You know, I mean it. Before," Keith says after a few heartbeats, finishing off wiping down his hand. Lance pauses and looks up at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "About, you know, staying friends after this shadowing program. I mean, I know I'm really shit with communication - even Shiro complains about it. But I like hanging out with you Lance. Like, a lot, alright? And well, I want to apologize."

       "For what?" Lance asks, but he's answered with a shrug before an actual answer.

       "I may have half-lied, I guess, when I said I didn't wear my gloves to hide my soulmark," he responds, fingers pinching and rolling the fabric of his cuff between them. "And I really want you to believe me about being serious about hanging out, so I was going to show you it."

       Lance is frozen, and in the span of a half a second, his head is bombarded with a thousand thoughts all zooming around screaming at him. This could be it. This could be the very moment he finds out if his soulmark truly is unrequited. To see if all the feelings he'd been bottling and shoving into the depths of his core had been justified. But something inside him almost doesn't want to know; just wants to keep on, and keep their relationship as it is, should he be right and his soulmark be unrequited. He feels like the very air solidified and dropped to the floor; his whole body feels detached from reality, and all he can do is breathe, "You don't have to do that."

       The slightly shorter male offers him a smile, "I know but it's fine. I want to."

       Then before Lance can insist he not, the other stretches out his gloveless fist and flips it over, wrist-up.

       Lance slowly lets his eyes drop from Keith's uncomfortably vulnerable expression, trailing down his freckled neck to his shoulder, tracing the wrinkles of his sleeve as they travel down his arm, until they come to rest on six, little, blue words in all-too-familiar handwriting.

_I was just trying to help_

       He doesn't know how long he stands there, just looking at those words, _his_ words. The memory of the moment flashes in his mind, and his eyes widen. He barely registers Keith voice when he speaks; it sounds so remote and far away, like he's drifting a hundred feet in the air.

       "Lance," he says, soft and a little hesitant. He takes a breath, "They're yours. You're my soulmate."

       The brunet is still standing there, one hand half-wrapped around his own marked wrist that sits curled into his chest, his eyes locked onto those tiny blue words that feel like they're being etched into his retina. He can't look away, and he doesn't until he realizes Keith has closed the distance between them again and put one hand to his cheek, his calloused fingers gentle against his skin as Lance turns his eyes to look at him. Keith looks concerned and, frankly, a little desperate, dark eyes peering into Lance's own midnight blue ones without fear.

       "Lance, why are you crying?"

       Lance steps back, away from him, and Keith's fingers are replaced by his own reaching up to touch the skin. They come back warm and wet, and it's like his consciousness snaps back into his own body. He can feel the tears decorating his cheeks like paint, drizzling over caramel skin and making light cocoa lines over soft freckles. He takes a step back as he starts trying to wipe them away, only to have them replaced with even more fresh ones. He feels like he's being whipped around in a vortex of emotions, all of them hitting him repeatedly without pause - Anger, relief, sadness, joy, guilt.

       He barely sees Keith in front of him, his own face a mixture of shock and uncertainty as he takes a hesitant step towards the lanky teenager. "Holy shit- Lance? Lance! I.. I'm-? What's wrong? Are you okay? Shit, did I do something? I'm sorry, I can-" But he's cut off by Lace suddenly whipping his arm away from his face, cheeks blotched and burning, face alight with an almost gleeful rage.

       "You're a _fucking asshole,_ Kogane! You knew, you fucking knew and you just-" His voice cracks and he brings a hand to his mouth and swallows. Now his voice is softer and he lowers his hand to speak, "But you know, so did I. God, I'm the fucking _worst."_

       "You're gunna have to be more specific," Keith says cautiously, still standing a few feet away from Lance, watching warily after the other's outburst.

       Lance just shakes his head and extends his left arm, flipping it over so the bright red words on his wrist could reflect off the light of the bathroom, and Keith's eyes widened when they landed on them. "You're a fucking asshole because you put these fucking words on my skin, and I'm even worse because I knew. I knew you were my soulmate and I lied about it. I thought it was unrequited because you didn't even _recognize me_ _the next day!"_ The brunet let his tears trickle freely now and Keith slowly dragged his gaze from Lance's soulmark to his face. "I thought you not only cursed me with these words, but that we weren't even meant to be after that, but _you knew?"_

       "I thought mine was unrequited, too!" Keith snaps back, but he looks like he's on the verge of cracking himself. "The second we were alone, you were an asshole to me.  You acted like I was the worst thing that happened to you!"

       "I thought you were!" Lance practically shouts, "I thought you were the person I was destined to be with, but you weren't destined to be with me, and to top it all off I had this ugly-as-fuck reminder of the fact my other half belonged to someone else."

       The dark-haired boy drops his gaze to the red words still exposed and vulnerable on Lance's wrist. The skin around it is practically hairless, and much paler than the rest, no doubt from over a decade of wearing a brace to hide the words Keith had unknowingly put there. He looks back to Lance and the brunet can only scowl weakly, still trying to get his breathing under control from his outburst and unexpected crying.

       "I..." Keith doesn't know what to say at first, and he just kind of turns his own wrist to look at Lance's words sitting peacefully there, and Lance can see in his expression that he finally understands the meaning behind their origin. "I'm sorry-"

       "Don't," Lance says, exhaling hard and reaching up to wipe away the trails of tears over his skin with the heel of his palm, sniffing grossly. "Don't apologize for it."

       "Then what am I supposed to do?" Keith asks softly, looking up at him again.

       Lance wipes at the other eye with the back of his hand as he levels the other with a weak glower, "Answering your phone once in awhile would be pretty nice."

       Keith's look hardens as it drops a bit, and suddenly he's very serious, "I will try my best. I promise." His skin is tight and his mouth pulled into a thin frown, brow digging canyons over the bridge of his nose. His eyes worried and almost fearful, and something about it seems off. But the utter legitimacy the other used in his tone had something bubbling up and out of Lance in the form of soft laughter. Maybe it was relief that his only well-kept secret was finally out to the only person who mattered, or a light but intense joy that his soulmark wasn't unrequited as he'd been so thoroughly convinced it was. Whatever it was, Lance was laughing softly, trying to stifle the hiccups that came with it. There's just a breath of hesitance from Keith, and then he's in front of Lance,, hands tentatively coming to rest on the sides of the brunet's arms, looking at him with concerned and questioning look that Lance just shakes his head at.

       "Maybe another drink, too," Lance says, sniffing, and he both hates and loves the little ball of warmth in his chest that swells up when Keith gives him that small smile. At this close proximity, Lance can see his freckles swaying with the movement.

       "That I can do," Keith replies with a softly, quirking a brow at him as his smile widens nervously just a little more.

♡  ♡  ♡

       "Lance, is something the matter?"

       The sweet voice close to his right dragged him out of a daze, and Lance sluggishly turned to see Shay looking at him intently with unseeing eyes. For a near-blind girl, she really had an intense gaze.

       His brow furrowed, and he turned back to look out over the shop, still half-draped over the counter as his head rested in his hand, "Not particularly."

       "You've hardly laughed at any of the stories I've been telling you." He can see her raise a thick brow from his peripherals, and pulls in the corner of his lip to suck on. "Something on your mind?"

       He shrugged, trying to brush off the question, "No, just tired, I guess. Didn't, uh..." He gave a short huff through his nose; a dry laugh, "Didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

       The truth was, he hadn't slept at all. Not a single wink. He'd been up all night tossing and turning and groaning into his pillow about how unfair the world was. He would have thought that after their double reveal of being soulmates, he and Keith would get along fine. But that simply wasn't the case. The air between them when they had returned to their table had been awkward and stiff, like trying to breathe through a thick smog. Finding replacements of their drinks sitting in their spots had been a sweet gesture to ease the tension by Sam, but in all reality, Lance had wanted to go back to the dorms to crawl under his covers and pretend the day never happened. He was emotionally drained, which put a physical weight on him like he was trying to hold up the sky, even if he was just sitting across the table from his shadow, nursing his drink with more politeness than actual desire.

       They'd made an attempt at conversation, with Keith trying to bring up the topic of what they were going to do now, but Lance had only shaken his head and given a tired, "Not right now, Keith. Give me a little time." And like that, they'd fallen to silence, each sipping their drinks as the cafe started to fill in and the sky dimmed to dusk.

       "Lance?" Shay's voice brought him out of his mind-wandering again, and he hummed at her. She sighed, "Are you really okay?"

       He tried to smile, but found he really didn't have the energy to give much more than a upwards twitch with the corners of his lips before they dropped again, "I'm fine."

       She gives him an unconvinced look, but her voice was soft, and Lance was vaguely reminded of his mother comforting him whenever he was upset, "You can talk to me, you know. Even if you don't want me to say anything back. I can still listen." Her fingers reached over, brushing over the skin of his hand in a comforting gesture, and Lance appreciated it.

       "I know," he replied, and he flipped his hand over so his fingers could curl around hers and give an appreciative but gentle squeeze. "Just... not right now. I'm not ready."

       Shay merely nodded, "If that's what you want." They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying the quiet comfort of each other's presence, with Shay absently giving light strokes of her thumb in small lines up and down the side of Lance's hand. The minutes ticked by and the shop remained as vacant as when Lance had started his shift. But there, in the humid air and thick, mingling scents of the Balmera Flower Shop, Lance found himself a little more at peace than he had been in days.

♡ ♡ ♡

       The light streaming in through his window was obnoxious as all hell, the pounding in his head frightfully sharp, and if the banging on his door could stop, that would be just great.

       "Lance! We know you're in there!"

       No such luck, it would seem.

       More knocking, rapid and irritated, along with what sounded like the angry tapping of a socked foot on the floor. Maybe if he ignored his antagonizer long enough, they would give up and go away. The idea was accompanied by even more banging on his door, and he had a passing thought that his RA would get pissed if the neighboring dorms wrote noise complaints.

       "You can't hide in your room forever, you overcooked spaghetti noodle!"

       "Go _away_ , Pidge!" He groaned, loud enough that the banging on his door stopped. He was thankful for that, at least, since he'd barely had the energy to even call out those three words. His reprieve was short-lived, however.

       "Lance, get your flat ass out of bed and go to class," Pidge snapped through the door, but he could hear the actual bite missing in the words.

       "Who's gunna make me, munchkin?" He gritted out, but it was weak.

       "You can't stay in there forever," the ginger huffed on the other side of the door.

       "Watch me," he mumbled under his breath and burrowed further under the covers, breath hot and rank as it bounced back against his face, but three days without brushing your teeth will do that.

       "Lance?" Hunk this time, the rapping against the wood much softer now. He could hear the smaller of his friends grumbling under their breath, but couldn't make out the words. "You haven't left your room for three days, dude. I don't even think I've seen you use the bathroom. That isn't healthy."

       "I'll get over it," Lance replied flatly. "Oh, look at that, I'm over it."

       He heard Hunk sigh softly, and Pidge mumbled something to him, to which he said a little muffled, "I know, I know. I'm worried too but you know how stubborn he is." Lance rolled over, turning so he was facing the white expanse of his wall. He just wanted his head to stop screaming at him, physically and mentally. It was bad enough he had a headache, but he could do without the intrusive thoughts as well.

       "Lance, you know Pidge can hack the keycode on your door," Hunk said loud enough for him to hear. The brunet actually felt a little bad at the concern in his friend's voice. "Just talk to us, man."

       "Hunk, please, just," he groaned and reached up to rub a hand over his face, less disgusted than he normally would be by the bumps on his face and more surprised at how dry his skin was. It should be greasy by this point, with how long he'd gone without his skincare routine. "Not now."

       "When, then, if not now?" Pidge again, their voice high and irritated.  "You've been in there for three days, Lance! And if Hunk says you haven't left, then that also means you haven't eaten and are probably also dehydrated. You're not taking care of yourself and you could get sick." There was a sigh just audible enough that Lance heard it through the door, and then Pidge's voice again, softer this time, more caring. "Just let us help you, okay? You don't have to talk to us but you need to take care of yourself."

       He knew they were right. Logically he knew that. But emotionally, all he wanted to do was lay here and wallow in his own grief and the same clothes he'd had on since Saturday. He wasn't hungry, his appetite had long since dissipated, and whatever energy he did have was being used in his occasional toss or turn in bed. Even conversing with his friends on the other side of the door was taking up a significant amount of his energy reserves. He resolved to stay quiet, if only because all of his spoons for talking had been used up.

       After a few moments, he heard the lock to his door click. Pidge peeked into the room, eyes scanning the area until they popped their head in and curled it around the door to spot Lance on his bed. They slipped in, Hunk sliding in behind them, and trotted over. His bed was high off the floor to make room a small storage area underneath, but getting on their tip toes was more than enough for her to reach over and lightly jap a pointy nail into his back.

       "Lance," they said, voice far more hushed now. "Get up you soggy wafflecone."

       "Pidge," he said, the hoarseness in his voice much more apparent now that the other two were next to him instead of on the other side of the door across the room. "Please."

       The ginger pouted at his back, "You need to eat something."

       "Not hungry," he grumbled, trying to shift further under the covers. He couldn't even yelp when Pidge jumped up and yanked them off, almost rolling Lance off the bed. He groaned, now sprawled to face them, and cracked open his eyes enough to see their obviously worried faces, and he silently prayed for the room to stop spinning to no avail.

       Hunk stepped forward and reached over, thick fingers carding through his greasy bangs with a delicacy that left goosebumps over his skin, pressing a palm to his heated forehead, "Dude, you're seriously warm. And your skin is... dry. Like, really dry, you're starting to break out. I've never seen you with anything less than perfect skin, man."

       Pidge swatted his large friend away, and Lance would have whimpered at the loss of familiar contact if his mouth wasn't so dry. They stretched up again, the back of their hand blissfully cool against his skin as the checked his forehead, cheek, and neck.

       "How are you feeling?" they asked after a moment, brown eyes catching the sunlight coming in through his window, turning them amber behind their glasses. "Anything bad?"

       He blinked slowly, breathed out more so. "Dizzy, mouth's dry, um... bad headache." His eyes drooped a little more closed when they flipped their hand, another cool spot against the flaming expanse of his throat. "So tired."

       "You're dehydrated as hell. And no wonder with how long you've kept yourself locked up in here," the ginger huffed before giving a resigned sigh. "You need to drink something and then eat."

       "Just a little, Lance," Hunk added when he groaned, and he looked over to see the underlying layer of fear in his best friend's face, gaze switching sluggishly between them for a moment before he closed his eyes.

       "...Fine," he sighed. And he could hear his friends do the same in relief.

       "I'll get you a glass of water, and reheat the soup Hunk made earlier," Pidge said, plopping back onto their heels before they turned and headed for the door.

       Hunk half-turned, calling over his shoulder, "It's in the fridge. But don't just microwave it! Put it on the stove for a bit and don't leave it!" Pidge called something back that Lance didn't catch, he was too busy being distracted by Hunk taking Pidge's place and running his fingers through his nasty hair. His best friend's voice was so soft that it made Lance get a twinge in his chest, "So do you really not want to talk about what's bothering you so much that you can't even take care of yourself?" Lance gave a sour hum in reply, eye barely open, blinking sluggishly. Hunk just brushed his hand through his hair again, blunt nails leaving welcoming trails of tingles over his scalp. "Outta spoons?" Lance hummed assent, and Hunk nodded in understanding.

       "Is it about Keith?" The dark-skinned boy asked after several minutes of petting, dragging Lance from the fringes of dozing. The brunet gave a little nod, and Hunk sighed, "Thought so."

       Pidge came back in at that moment, tottering over with a glass of water and a half a bowl of soup, the steam curling into the air as they huffed at Lance. "Up, lazy butt. Can't eat or drink lying down." Lance grunts at them but doesn't make much more of an argument before sliding a hand under him to leverage himself. Pushing himself into a sitting position is a lot more work than he thinks either of them realize, but he manages it. Pidge offers him the glass of water first, and Hunk warns him to take small sips, no matter how thirsty he may be. Lance almost wants to crack a joke, but thinks that if he speaks he'll crack his voice instead and that's not something he wants to deal with at the moment. So he takes a few sips, relishes in the way the liquid soothes the sandy surface of his tongue and moistens the inside of his larynx, and exchanges it for the bowl in Pidge's hands. He blinks down at it, a tiny smile forming over his lips as he takes a long, soft inhale.

       "Smells good," he croaks, but Hunk's face loses the worry and he smiles at Lance, while Pidge rests their chin atop his mattress as he tastes the first spoonful. "And tastes even better. Cheddar broccoli?" Hunk nods and his smile widens even more.

Pidge looks relieved and they let Lance take a few more spoonfuls before sliding in another question, "So why are you isolating yourself?"

       Lance swallows his mouthful and sighs, dipping his spoon into the soup and letting it swish under the surface, "Well, Hunk already knows, but I found out last Friday - not this past one, the one before that - that Keith is my soulmate." Pidge's lips twist into a bit of a pucker, but other than that they look unsurprised. "I didn't think it was requited at first, since he had just... spat my words at me and left, and then didn't even recognize me when we met the next day, at the Cyber Café." He shrugged, eyes flicking from his two friend's faces to the bowl in his lap, "I dunno, I guess it was just the fact that, after eighteen years of hiding my soulmark, being ashamed about it, and even adapting quirks and mannerisms to avoid realizing it, it just _hurt_ when all of that had been for.. for something unrequited."

       "But it's not, is it?" Pidge mused, voice low, and when he looked up he saw their face painted with a glossy layer of sympathy.

       He shook his head, "No. Last Wednesday we went to Loca Mocha, and I spilled hot tea on my brace and it got under it so I had to take it off And then he showed me his words, which were what I said to him after he said mine, saying how he thought I hated him. And I just... I showed him mine, saying how I thought mine was unrequited because he didn't recognize me the day after it happened."

       "Did he blow up at you?" Hunk asked as Lance paused to take another spoonful of soup into his mouth, and Lance furrowed his brow at the soup.

       "No, actually. He... I don't know. It was so awkward so we ended up just finishing our drinks and he brought me back." Lance twiddled with the handle of his spoon. "He's texted me a few times since then, but I couldn't bring myself to reply. Everything just built up and I couldn't take it anymore."

       Hunk crossed his arms and gave Lance a questioning look, "Well are you going to talk to him? Because I'm assuming you haven't had, like, any contact with the guy since last Thursday."

       Lance curled in on himself a bit, ducking his head and reaching up to run a hand through his hair, trying not to wince at the feel of grease in the webbing of his fingers, "I dunno... I guess I should."

       "I agree," Pidge said, tapping their fingers against the side of the mattress as they pushed off a bit from it. "He's your soulmate. You should at least try to work it out with him, especially if he wants to work it out with you."

       The brunet sighed, dropping his hand back to lay limpy on his thigh, "No, you're right, I should. I just needed to just be alone for a while."

       "And now you're a dehydrated, three-days-late-for-a-shower mess," Pidge said sarcastically, but something about it made Lance snort, and they smiled. "It sucks that you had to go through all of that, but we're your friends. You should have told us."

       "Yeah, Lance," Hunk chimed in from where he was leaning against one of the bed's legs. "That's what friends are for. Helping each other when we're down and cheering each other up."

       "I know, I know," the brunet replied. "I'm dumb and don't know how to handle things well after a certain point."

       Hunk snorted, "Yeah, and then Pidge has to break into your room and force you to take care of yourself."

       "In my defense, he uses the same pass-code for everything," the ginger hums.

       Lance huffs sharply at her, "Pidge! Not cool, man!" His two friends laugh and he finds himself smiling a little wider, the little ball of warmth in his belly from more than just the hot soup he'd been eating.

       After he'd finished his soup and water, and he'd given a few more laughs and a promise to shower, Hunk and Pidge left to go work on a project for one of their shared tech classes. Lance had waited a few minutes before sliding out of bed, feeling a little more energized now that he'd had something to eat and drink, grabbing his phone and a towel as he headed for the bathroom. The shower was hot, and even though he'd had his music playing, it was a softer playlist with more calming music to keep his frazzled nerves soothed and under control. He was in the process of toweling off his hair when he heard his phone vibrate on the ceramic counter-top of the sink. He almost regretted picking it up to see who it was.

       Speak of the devil.

       Keith's number sat stoically in a little notification bubble on his phone, a little "Hey" waiting politely for a reply. Lance didn't know why the guy was still trying after so long without a word from him, but if the roles were reversed, Lance was pretty sure he would have done the same thing. He sighed, and tried to mentally soothe the churning anxiety in his stomach as he unlocked his phone. He stared at the message for a minute, feeling guilty as it sat under three other identical ones from over the past week, before deciding that it wasn't going to do him any good to put this off much longer.

       So with a sharp inhale and a flurry of thumb taps, he wrote back a simple "hey yourself" and hit send before the uncomfortable shivers crawling up his spine got the better of him. He hardly had to wait all that long for a reply, and he winced when it came in.

        _[4:23 PM] : Oh, finally responding are we?_

       He felt bad about not replying, but in all honesty, it had been a challenge to even send that one. Though the second one felt a little easier now that he'd initially broken the ice.

 _yea : [4:23 PM]_        

 _sorry : [4:23 PM]_        

        _[4:24 PM] : It's alright. I didn't expect anything right away._

        _[4:24 PM] :  But NOW who's the one who never answers his phone?_

 _aha u got me : [4:25 PM]_        

 _hypocrite is my middle name : [4:25 PM]_        

        _[4:26 PM] : I thought it was Alejandro?_

 _wait : [4:27 PM]_        

 _you remembered that? : [4:27 PM]_        

        _[4:28 PM] : ...Yeah._

 _lol im flattered : [4:28 PM]_        

        _[4:28 PM] : So what made you finally respond?_

       Lance thought about that for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard as he finished pulling on his pants, grabbing his shirt and moving out to the living room. His own room smelt like bad hygiene and self-deprecation, and needed a serious airing out before he took up residency there again. So the living room couch it was. He also got another glass of water, as per Pidge's instructions, before settling in and responding.

 _well u said u were srs abt bein friends rite : [4:31 PM]_        

        _[4:31 PM] : Of course._

 _i want to take u up on that offer : [4:32 PM]_        

 _free anytime this week? : [4:32 PM]_        

        _[4:32 PM] : Friday until 6._

 _wanna do lunch at 1 or 2 : [4:33 PM]_        

        _[4:33 PM] : Sure. 1 works great._

        _[4:33 PM] : Pick you up outside the dorm building?_

       Lance took a deep breath, held it for a couple seconds, and slowly exhaled it before he typed his reply.

 _sounds good : [4:33 PM]_        

 _its a date lol : [4:34 PM]_        

♡ ♡ ♡

       All too soon it’s Friday, and Lance would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. In fact, he was far beyond nervous at this point and well into the “near panic attack” zone. His legs bounced restlessly in front of him where he sat on his and Hunk’s dorm room’s tiny couch, jumping up and down so fast that it was starting to blur and his joints ached. He clicked the home button on his phone again, glaring at the bolded digital clock at the top that read 1:03 PM, before he huffed and dropped it to the surface of the coffee table. He pushed himself up with a sigh and started pacing the floor. His shoes made muffled thumps over the carpet, and his shoulders were so tense they were pinched up to his ears, but it made him feel a little better than sitting still had.

       Hunk was sitting on the couch adjacent to where Lance had just been, glancing between his textbook and his friend as the lanky teen tried determinedly to wear a trench into the flooring. Though he couldn’t say he wasn’t happy the shaking had stopped, he wasn’t happy that his friend was so anxious and there wasn’t much he could do about it.        

       Lance threw his arms in the air in exasperation, “I can’t do this. Hunk, I can’t do this, man!”

       “Yes, you can, dude,” Hunk replied calmly, giving him a sympathetic look, before he flipped the page of his textbook and scribbled something down on the notebook that rested next to it. “It’s just Keith and lunch. And in my experience, anything that has to do with food usually ends up turning out well.”

       “Okay, sure, let’s go with that,” The brunet said as he dropped his arms down, throwing one hand to his hip as the other threaded itself in his hair as he gave the coffee table an uncertain glare. “But like, Keith is my _soulmate._ And I’ve already fucked up like, everything to do with him.”

       Hunk frowned at him, “Lance, you didn’t fuck up anything with Keith. He obviously still likes you if you ignored him for a week and he still tried to talk to you.” Lance groaned but the dark-haired male wasn’t having it. “You guys get along great, and he even told you he wanted to be friends, even _after_ you gave him nothing but radio static.”

       “But what if he’s changed his mind?” Lance questioned and the hand that was in his hair loosened its hold on his roots, dragging down his face as he whined. “What if he’s realized how shitty I was and doesn’t want to be friends anymore? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me at all because I neglected him? What if he-”

       In the time Lance had started rambling, Hunk had pushed himself off the couch and made his way over to him, giving the anxious male’s shoulders a gentle, yet firm, pat to dam his sputtering and put his attention on him. “Lance, you are anything but shitty, alright? You’re funny and charismatic and yeah, sometimes you can go a little over the top with your primadonna attitude, but you’re not shitty. And Keith isn’t a jerk who would only focus on the bad things. He knows all the good parts of you, like how you go way past expectations by buying him all the expensive art supplies he was going to need for your classes, and walking him to said classes so he doesn’t get lost in unfamiliar buildings, and giving him dry clothes after getting caught in the rain.”

       Lance narrowed his eyes at him, “I never told you about that.”

       “Keith came by to give your clothes back but you were at work, so I took them. He said he washed them so I just tossed them in your room for you,” The slightly taller male explained, dropping one hand to gesture with it loosely as the other gripped a little tighter. “But listen, that’s not the point. The point is, he knows you’re a good guy, because you are. You sing Adele purposefully off-key in the shower, you spend way too much time on your skin-care routine, and yeah, you have a bad habit of not knowing when to shut up sometimes and it can get you in trouble-” He gives Lance a stern look, and the other looks back a little meekly, though significantly less anxious. “But that’s all just part of who you are, Lance.”

       They’re both quiet for a moment, before Lance takes a slow inhale, exhaling it just as slowly, nodding. “You’re right.”

       “Um, of course I’m right,” Hunk says with a roll of his eyes before he gives his best friend a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, dude. You guys will be cool and the date will go great, and everything will be awesome.”

       Lance nearly choked on his tongue, ears flaming as he defensively said, “It’s not a date!”

       Hunk gives him an unconvinced look, “Dude, you literally texted him ‘it’s a date lol’.”

       The brunet brushes off his hand with a grumbled, “I was being sarcastic” before his phone vibrated from where it still sits on the coffee table. They both turn to it to see the little notification light flashing orange, signalling a new text message. Lance’s breath catches for a second and he looks at Hunk, who gestures towards the device with a nod of his head and flash of his eyes, before the brunet slides over to pick up the device. He clicked the home button and the screen lights up, and he unlocks it with his thumb before clicking the notification. His messaging app comes up and opens a thread, and he doesn’t even have to read the name to know it’s Keith. All he sees is the word “outside” sitting peacefully ignorant in its little bubble at the bottom of the thread, and he sighs softly.

       “You got this man,” his best friend says from behind him. “I believe in you. It’ll be fine.”

       Lands nods, a little robotic, but he still turns to offer his friend a small smile even if his brows are twisted upwards in uncertainty, “Yeah. Thanks Hunk.” He pockets his phone and swipes his black peacoat off the arm of the couch where he’d laid it earlier, shrugging it on and buttoning it as he walks to the door. “Welp, he’s outside now, so I guess I should go.”

       “Alright, call me if you need anything.”

       He gives his friend an appreciative smile over his shoulder as he grabs his favorite infinity scarf, “Will do, big guy. And thanks again.”

       “No problem, dude,” Hunk calls after him, as he shuts the door. His hand rests on the handle for a moment as he steels his resolve, and then he’s walking briskly down the hallway, wrapping his scarf around his neck as they go. He may just be going to lunch, but if Keith’s picking him up, then that means they’re going on his motorcycle, and Lance _refuses_ to freeze his ass off when the temperature started dropping.

       He trots down the stairs, and finds himself almost rushing to the door that leads to one of the back exits of the building, only to find himself hesitating before it.

       “Come on, McClain,” he grumbles to himself. “You can do this. It’s just Keith and lunch, like Hunk said. No big deal. You got this.” And then he’s pressing on the door handle and pushing the door open, eyes scrunching shut and head instinctively ducking into his scarf as a cold blast of air hits his face. He slides outside, shoulders already hunched as he walks across the short breath of rough pathway to the sidewalk.

       It doesn’t take long for him to spot his ride; the motorcycle is a bright red spot on the mess of drying grass and crumbling leaves that decorate the unpaved ground, paint vibrant enough even through the dings and scratches that it looks like it’s vibrating. Her owner sits perched easily on her seat, eyes focused on his phone screen as his thumb idly scrolls through something. His helmet rests on the dashboard, his other hand sitting on it as his fingers tap in sync with his scrolling thumb. It’s a little cloudy out, but there’s enough daylight out that gentle shadows drape themselves over his hunched form, and Lance finds himself breathless from more than just the cold.

       The other turns around when he hears Lance approaching, and when their eyes meet, Lance flinches and his steps falter till he stops. They look at each other for a moment, and Lance can’t gauge what the other is thinking when his expression is so neutral, but he thinks there’s a bit of a pinch to his brow.

       He’s thankful when Keith is the first to break the silence, “So, anywhere in particular you want to go for lunch?”

       It takes the slightly taller boy a few seconds to remember how to use his tongue, but then he’s sputtering, “Right, lunch, um…” He shrugs his shoulders, finally tearing his gaze away to look to the side while he gives a bit of a nervous chuckle, “The… cafe?”

       He’s relieved when Keith scoffs and gives him a tiny lopsided grin, “Muffins don’t count as lunch, dude.”

       Lance huffs, a bit of heat flaring in his cheeks as he pouts, “Alright then, wise guy, why don’t you pick where we go!”

       Keith seems to ponder that for a moment, eyelids drooping as he looks thoughtfully towards the yellowing grass, “Hmm, there’s a burger joint you’d probably like that I’ve been to before, but it’s like, fifteen minutes out of town.” He looks back up at Lance in questioning, eyes dark pools in the low light,

       “That’s fine,” the brunet replies, throwing a hand to his hip. “I was prepared for a cold drive anyways.”

       “I can see that,” the ravenet says as he reaches around behind him and pops the trunk lid, pulling out the spare helmet and tossing it to Lance, who manages to catch it without too much fumbling. He slides it over his head and forces himself forward, and if Keith notices his hesitation to wrap his arms around him when he swings a leg over the seat, he doesn’t mention it. Keith gives the engine a few revs when he turns the ignition, and the resounding purr makes Lance tighten his hold on the other. “Ready?” Keith calls over his shoulder, and Lance nods, but whether or not Keith sees it, he kicks off from the ground and wrings the handlebar to thrust them forwards.

       The drive isn’t so bad. Lance thinks Keith is going slower than usual, so the wind isn’t as biting as he was expecting it to be. The visor on the helmet at least made it bearable to watch the scenery go by, a soggy mess of russets and coppers under an oddly pretty blue overlay. The general chill to the air is disrupted by the heat rolling off of Keith’s body, permeating Lance’s jacket and keeping him just warm enough to stave off any shivering. It’s quiet, or at least as quiet as it can be on a motorcycle ride when there’s the wind whipping past your head and the roar of the engine wrapping around you like the crest of an ocean wave. But it isn’t uncomfortable.

       When they finally reached the place Keith had picked, he was actually starting to feel the chill a bit, his fingers a little blue at the nails as he handed the helmet back to its owner. The both trot inside, Keith ducking ahead to grab the door for Lance, and Lance mumbles a thanks before he does the same with the inside door for Keith, who gives him a small, grateful smile.

       The place is surprisingly vacant for a Friday afternoon, the lull of noise in the air mainly from the television sets that dot the walls, playing a different sport on each one. They’re seated in a booth and slide into their seats so they’re across from one another, where Lance has a perfect view of a TV showing a game of soccer that he has no real interest in, but pretends to be super focused on it if only as an excuse not to look at Keith. A waiter comes over to take their drink order and give them each a menu, so Lance orders a water while Keith gets a Sprite.

       The silence that fills the space between them when the waiter leaves is deafening. Even with the buzz from the few other occupied tables and chatter by the bar farther up, Lance feels it pounding on his ear drums, threatening to break into his head and throttle his brain. He can see in his peripherals Keith’s expression twitching, as if fighting, and losing, some internal battle. Lance worries the inside of his cheek for another breath more, before he wrenches his eyes from the TV to Keith.

       He decides to break the silence with a quick, “I’m sorry.”

       That makes Keith look at him quizzically, head ducking a bit as he eyes Lance with a mix of confusion and wariness, “Why are you apologizing?”

       “Because I was a dick,” the brunet replies, and somehow he manages to keep eye contact with the other, despite him digging his fingernails into his palm where they hide in his pockets. “I just… I was kind of caught off guard by the whole soulmark thing, and it’s always kind of been a sensitive subject for me. So when it happened - you saying my words - I wasn’t expecting it at all and it kind of shocked me so I was freaking out.”

      He saw Keith’s face twist into something more apologetic, but Lance just kept going without giving him a chance to reply. “But I had an appointment to get to and couldn’t let any of that out, so I kinda bottled it for later. And then I just kept shoving it back and back and back-”

       “Lance-” Keith tried to intervene, but Lance just kept going.

       “-with more things adding on to it, and I guess you showing me your soulmark - my words - was the breaking point.”

       “Lance...”

       “I couldn’t really function very well, so I holed up in my room until Hunk and Pidge dragged me out. And I know that’s no excuse for ignoring you since last Thursday because that was super dickish of me but I still wanted to say I’m sorry.” He’s picking at a loose thread in the crease of his arm, trying very hard not to look up at the male before him should he find a less than savory expression awaiting him. He’s waiting in the pseudo-silence, fingers twirling the thread between the pads of his fingers, until his name carried on a soft voice pricks his ears.

       Keith is looking at him as one would a frightened animal. In a sense, that’s what Lance is, scared and wary and anxious, but he looks up slowly anyways. He wasn’t expecting to find Keith’s features settled into a very relaxed and almost fond expression, his eyes shining lightly with sympathy, but there it is. It seems to amplify the near indigo color of his irises, and it takes Lance a moment to remember to intake oxygen.

       “You don’t have to apologize for any of that. I mean, I get it, I do. The whole anxiety and insecurity thing about your soulmark thing. I mean, I always thought mine meant that I’d… I’d fucked up and hurt someone. And I guess I still did.” He pauses and looks at his wrist, even though the little line of text they both know is inked into his skin there is covered by the hem of his gloves. His brow furrows a little more angrily, but it feels as though it’s more towards himself. “I always thought it would be because of me lashing out at someone, so I tried learning to reign in the more aggressive sides of myself. Bottle it and throw it away, you know? Hoping it would just disappear into the ocean of my mind, but it instead of going away it just sort of… ended up somewhere else. Kind of like a, uh… shit what’s it called…”

       Lance uncrossed his left arm, flipping his wrist just enough to see those five, tiny, red words scrawled over his wrist, dancing over the delicate veins and thin tendons that ran under the bronze skin. He pursed his lips at them, brows drawn together, “Message in a bottle?”

       “Yes, that. Thank you, Lance,” Keith said.

       Lance hummed assent before returning his hand to it’s place tucked under the other and look back at his… what was he now? Friend? Soulmate? Stranger? They’d hardly known each other for two weeks, yet Lance felt drawn to him like a moth to a flame, entranced by the fire he saw in dark eyes, the fondness hidden in the folds of his cocky grin. He was bitter because as much as he wanted to be angry, or even just upset about the whole ordeal so far, he knew that if Keith asked for forgiveness, Lance would give it to him without a second thought. He hated that. He was supposed to be bitter, to hold a grudge against the guy who had basically held an anvil over him for the past eighteen years of his life, a constant shadow of fear and doubt hanging over him, only to drop it when he least expected.

       But now that he’d hung out with the guy, gotten to know him a little, his likes, his dislikes, shared an argument or twenty, defended each other against close-minded assholes and ignorant frat boys, sung historical duets under the stars and danced like an old married couple in his living room to christmas music, Lance found he just… couldn’t. He liked him. He honestly, truly, liked Keith Kogane.

       He liked the way his nose scrunched when he laughed and made the dusting of freckles only a shade darker than his skin dance over his cheeks. He liked how he’d pout a little when he was just scowling for show and not because he was actually angry. He liked how Keith would sway with the lines he drew on the canvas, leaning this way and that as he dressed the canvas in layers of charcoal, completely oblivious to how the medium would smudge on his face when he subconsciously rubbed his nose or itched his cheek. He liked the way his voice sounded when he rapped Hamilton, or hummed a song he had gotten stuck in his head that he didn’t know the words to. He liked how his face scrunched up in distaste at the amount of sugar Lance would put into his drinks, or when he’d roll his eyes when Lance would chide him for wolfing down his food and say “What are you, my mom?”

       Alright, so maybe it was a little more than like. But he blamed the soulmate connection on that one.

       He was brought out of his internal analysis by Keith clearing his throat, eyes refocusing on him as he said, “So I guess I should be the one apologizing, Lance. I’m not asking for you to forgive me, but you definitely deserve an apology at the very least.” His eyes flickered to the side and his shoulders hiked up a bit, a tell-tale sign Lance had quickly figured out that meant he was being genuine and open and subconsciously trying to protect himself. Lance waited quietly, and after a moment Keith forced himself to uncurl and looked the brunet right in the eye, indigo to sapphire, a kind of honest determination set in his jaw that made a small shiver run up Lance’s spine.”I’m sorry, Lance.”

       Lance blinked at him, and honestly felt the telltale pricks of tears in his eyes, so he blinked quickly a few times to disperse them. Even though it was far from what he wanted, an apology had been what he’d needed to start moving on. At least, part of what he needed.

       He nodded a bit, but before he could say anything, their waiter came back over with their drinks, setting them down with a chipper smile and asking if they were ready to order. Lance quickly said they’d need a few more minutes, smiling back as brightly as he could, and the boy nodded and trotted off with a promise to return in a bit. The brunet sighed, and picked up his menu, flipping it open to some random page to browse.

       “Guess we should actually look through this thing and figure out what we want, huh?” He mused, and Keith nodded before picking up his own and copying Lance, landing on the appetizers page. Lance browsed for a bit, eventually deciding on the kind of burger meal he wanted, before flipping his menu closed and sliding it to the end of the table. He watched Keith continue to look through his own, a spark of amusement flickering in his chest at the dark-haired boy’s intense gaze as he read the menu items. “Christ, don’t read too hard, Kogane, or you’ll set that little brain of yours on fire.”

       “Oh shut up, McClain, like you’re one to talk Mr. ‘ten thousand? That’s like a thousand plus ten’.” Lance can see the other’s smirk behind the menu when he makes an indignant noise, and huffs at him. Then he grabs his straw and twists off one end with practiced ease, before holding it to his lips and shooting a sharp breath of air through the thin tube. The wrapper launched off and thwacked the other in the temple, fluttering down and catching in the ends of his mullet. Keith squawked but the hand he put up to defend himself was too slow, and he grumbled as he fished the paper out of his hair, glowering at Lance’s playful grin.

       “ _Now_ we’re even, Kogane,” he hummed, grin falling to a smile as the other’s hard expression fell to one of his own.

       The ravenet chuckled a bit, “Yeah, I guess I deserved that.”

       Their waiter came back at that moment, and they each gave their order with polite, but honest smiles. They bantered about some pointless things that made Lance feel normal again, and when their food came out, Lance’s appetite kicked into high gear and even he was wolfing down his food. He could feel grease and ketchup dribbling down his chin, but couldn’t find it in himself to slow down enough to wipe it away, and when he looked up he found Keith in a similar state. The brunet caught his gaze, and grinned as well as he could with his mouth closed, and Keith mirrored it, and it was gross - they were gross - but it was fine because they were going to get past this. He still had baggage he needed to unpack, Keith still had baggage _he_ needed to unpack, but they could always do that later. Right now, they were here, enjoying greasy burgers and over-salted fries, legs tangled under the cramped booth. They’d be alright.

       He’d be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading, but this is the end of IFCS!! However, it's not the end of Keith and Lance's story. There's a reason this fic is part of a series, and that's because there will be another fic to continue it.
> 
> When I will actually get to that fic is... another story altogether (pun intended).
> 
> So really, thanks to everyone who was along for the ride and everyone who's binged it all in one go. I loved every comment and piece of advice, and I'm excited to plan out the next installment!! 
> 
> Please be patient with me, however, because I have a lot of other writing projects going on right now that I have to finish before I can start the next installment. 
> 
> Happy reading!! ♡♡


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